


Passion and Prudence

by BleedingInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Love Triangles, Marriage Proposal, governess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: Meg Masters is an American governess who arrives at Heavenly Mannor, a home state in the English countryside, to teach Claire Novak, a fifteen years old orphan. Claire is the niece of the owner of the state, Castiel Novak, a reclusive, shy man who rarely lets his emotions shine through. His personality clashes with Meg's free-spirited and passionate nature, so of course, she can't even begin to suspect how much she has truly captivated him until, out of the blue, he proposes to her.Meg, however, has other ambitions that she hopes to realize in the literary salons in London, but it might all be derailed when she meets Luc Milton, Castiel's charming cousin, who seems decided to court her and convince her to put her reputation and her plans on the line for him.
Relationships: Castiel/Meg Masters
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a couple of years ago, and recently found the doc again, lol. Very Austen-esque, nothing too scandalous might happen, but there will be a lot of exalted emotions. Hopefully.

The landscape outside the carriage's window extended for miles and miles. Sometimes they passed by a line of trees or a fence or a small farm, but other than that, there seemed to be nothing but hills and the river running parallel to the road. Every now and then, the carriage's wheels would hit a rock and rattle its only occupant so she would have to cling onto her seat to avoid being thrown against the door.

Marjorie Masters, Meg for her close ones, had been chosen for the role of governess in the house of an extremely wealthy gentleman who happened to live on the other side of the ocean. She had just arrived after weeks of a long journey by ship and another week by carriage to reach the small town and she was extremely tired. If it wasn't for that, she might have appreciated a little more the magnificent sights stretching in front of her, but right now she found no joy in them. She wanted to arrive to her destination and have a warm meal that didn't involve fish. The horses clattering prevented her from falling asleep and so did the chatter between the coachman and his son.

Finally, she poked her head out of the window and called out:

"Is it going to take much longer?"

"Not a lot, miss," the bearded man answered her. "We'll be there by the next turn of the road, you'll see."

She grumbled as she set back down against her seat, but a few moments later the road took and abrupt wound and the estate appeared before her eyes.

Even in her bad mood she had to admit that the place was impressive: surrounded by woody and flowery hills, the large building stood as if it had sprung from the floor along with the trees of the woods behind it. The river split into a creek that run past the iron gates and pooled into a lake, above which a stone bridge had been built. The coachman, perhaps sensing her impatience, hurried the horses across it and through the garden surrounded by bushes of a luscious green.

"Dean, pick up Miss Masters' trunk," he instructed as he jumped down and ran around the carriage to open the door for her. For a man his age, he was extremely agile and his hand was firm as he offered it to her so she could step down. "Welcome to Heavenly Manor, miss."

Upon first reading the name of the place where she would be working at, she thought it sounded excessively pretentious. But once in there, she had to admit it suited it. The coachman gestured her towards the door, but she stopped for a moment to look up at the row of windows across both stories of the house. They looked like eyes all staring down at her, judging her, wondering if she would be dignified enough to belong there.

And at least in one case, the eyes watching her were literal: she saw a curtain move and a blonde head that disappeared behind her.

"Miss?" the coachman called.

She climbed the steps towards the door and walked into a large hall, illuminated by the sun pouring in through the windows. She stood there for a moment, taking in the blue velvet curtains and the thick carpet with complicated patterns. There were large armchairs by the chimney and vases full of flowers surrounding a golden clock above its shelf. The room was decorated with impeccably, if scarcely, and that surprised her too. She had expected something far more strident and crowded, filled with horrible art pieces and vivid colors. It seemed that was something rich American families did often, but in England, it would be considered in poor taste.

Or perhaps it had more to do with the owner of the house than with the country itself. In his letters, Mr. Novak had sounded excessively formal, almost rigid in his word choice and the way he constructed his phrases. She was curious to know if that impression had been correct.

"Stay here, please," the coachman said. "I will announce you to the master..."

"There'll be no need of that, Mr. Singer," a rough, deep voice came floating down the stairs. "Thank you. Please, take Miss Masters baggage to her room."

Mr. Singer made a quick bow with his head and hurriedly moved to help out his son with Miss Masters' trunks and packages.

Mr. Novak descended from the stairs very slowly. He had to, because for every stepped he took he had to stop and rest on a thick ebony cane. That gave Meg plenty of time to observe her new employer. He was dressed in stark, dark colors, with a brown waistcoat and black riding boots. He had dark, tousled hair, as if he had only just returned from a wild ride in his horse after forgetting his hat. His limp became more noticeable as he reached the bottom of the stairs and approached her. His face was serious, and it would have been expressionless if it wasn't for his bright blue eyes. However, his tone was kind when he greeted her:

"You must be Miss Marjorie Masters."

"Must I be?" she asked, with a smirk. He didn't understand the joke, if the crease that appeared between his eyebrows was anything to judge by. "Then you must be Mr. Castiel Novak," she added, pulling off the glove from her right hand and extending it towards him.

She expected him to shake it, but it seemed nothing there was going to be as she expected. He grabbed it and pressed his lips to her knuckles, briefly, almost distractedly, and let go of her just as quick. She hoped her surprise at the gesture didn't show in her face, but it didn't matter: he was already turning her back towards her and beckoning her to follow him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you in person at last," he said, even though his tone indicated anything but pleasure. "I'm very glad you accepted this position. Please, allow me to show you upstairs."

He climbed up the steps faster than he had descended them, perhaps because he didn't have to fear stumbling down. He still moved a little too slow for her, who only wanted to lie down in a bed until supper was ready, but she figured complaining would have been counterproductive. Mr. Novak, however, must have sense her impatience, because he said:

“Forgive me. You must be tired and I’m forcing you to keep up with my slow rhythm.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Meg said, but Mr. Novak continued talking as if he hadn’t heard her. She would come to discover this was a very annoying habit of his.

“As I told you in my letter, the reason I called you here is my niece, Claire,” he told her. “I didn’t go into many details, but there are some exceptional circumstances you need to be aware of before you meet her.”

“Such as?”

For a step or two, Mr. Novak remained quiet, as if he was thinking of the best way to start his story. When Meg was about to repeat her question, he said:

“My brother James was very dear to me. However, he wasn’t the most prudent man. He fell in love with a woman of an inferior status, a French actress, and when our parents disapproved of her, they eloped together to America. My father disavowed him and I heard nothing of him for over a decade.”

Meg said nothing to this. She wasn’t sure there was something she could say that wouldn’t offend him.

“Last year, I received a letter from him,” Mr. Novak continued. “It informed me his wife had died at childbirth and he was in his deathbed. Along with the letter came my niece, Claire. He had died shortly before she embarked and he used up all of his savings to pay for her passage.”

They reached the top of the stairs and Mr. Novak apologized before sitting down on a chair left there for that purpose, Meg suspected. He stretched his bad leg with a barely noticeable cringe of pain and rubbed it over his trousers. She waited in respectful silence until he was ready to speak again:

“You have to understand, I suspected my brother would go through financial difficulties without my father’s inheritance and I now have confirmation that was the case. But in that entire time, he didn’t ask for a penny. So I couldn’t refuse his last request to take care of Claire and give her a good life and an education.”

“Would you have refused it had your brother written you regularly asking for money?” Meg asked, crooking an eyebrow. Mr. Novak’s frown became even deeper and Meg lowered her eyes. “Excuse me. I have a bad tendency to speak my mind, even if it’s not the most…”

“Prudent?” Mr. Novak suggested when she failed to find a word.

“Yes.” Meg shrugged, indicating that was as much as an apology as he was going to get from her. “Even if it’s not the most prudent thing to do.”

She thought she saw a suffering expression cross through his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it showed up, so she couldn’t be certain she had seen it at all. He stood up with the help of his cane and gesture for Meg to continue down the hall with him.

“Claire is fifteen and she’s had… difficulties adapting to her life here,” he told her. “My brother raised her rather liberally, I’m afraid, and she doesn’t always behave like the young lady she is supposed to be. Your two predecessors have resigned out of pure frustration.”

“Ah, a challenge, then,” Meg commented and smirked when Mr. Novak stopped to glance at her in pure confusion. “I have to ask, though: having a governess come from all the way across the sea is rather unconventional. Wouldn’t a French governess suit her better? You did mention it was her mother’s nationality.”

“I had the same thought.” Mr. Novak sighed. “Mademoiselle Talbot left after rather rudely informing me that my niece would be a savage little beast forever. She might have interjected other unsavory opinions, but my French is rusty.”

Meg bit the inside of her cheek not to laugh. Mr. Novak either didn’t notice or decided to very politely ignore her inappropriate amusement.

“I decided perhaps an American woman such as yourself would understand her better. It is her homeland, after all,” he concluded. “And I have nothing to lose by trying.”

He said with the expression of a man at the end of his rope. As if Meg failing would mean that Mademoiselle Talbot was right about Claire and there was nothing left for him to do.

“I have some questions as well,” he said. “It’s also rather… what was the word you used? Unconventional, for a young unmarried lady to make such a long voyage to an unknown destination just for a job position. Do American families not use governesses?”

“Not really, no,” Meg admitted. “As you know from my letters, I worked at a school where I taught young ladies the same skills I will be teaching your niece. I’d wager having only one student will be much easier.”

Mr. Novak’s lip went up a little bit, almost as if he wanted to scoff at the prospect that working with Claire would be “easy”, but he couldn’t allow himself to.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he insisted. “Why did you abandon that position to come here? You’re far from home.”

“Perhaps that’s exactly what I wanted, Mr. Novak. Have you considered that?”

Mr. Novak kept watching her for a moment longer, as if she expected her to add something else, but Meg simply held his gaze in silence. After accepting that was all he was going to learn from her, Mr. Novak nodded and led her to a door at the end of the hallway.

“Please, I beg you to keep in mind once more that my niece is a very sensitive child who has endured many great losses,” he reminded. “Do not judge her by her behavior towards you.”

It sounded almost like he was already expecting what they found at the other side of the door.

The room was wide, decorated with lavender and soft blue colors; the room of a young, delicate girl, and indeed, the girl that lived inside seemed very delicate. She was wearing a long, white dress that twirled around her legs as she danced barefoot over the blue carpet and sang out loud, her long blonde hair tied in a braid and crowned with fresh flowers. Meg saw an empty vase over the nightstand and deduced that Claire had picked them up in a hurry to adorn herself when she’d heard them come in.

“Claire,” Mr. Novak called her. “I want you to meet your new governess, Miss Masters.”

Claire didn’t stop humming to herself or moving around the room, like an angel or a butterfly floating around the fields, as if she couldn’t hear or see them at all, lost in her daydream. It was almost too convincing, or it would have been had Meg not recognized the words.

“ _He is dead and gone, lady, he is dead and gone_ ,” she sang. “ _At his head a grass-green turf, at his heels a stone…_ ”

“Claire,” Mr. Novak insisted. “Please, pay attention.”

Claire stopped her dancing mid-movement and turned around, her bright blue eyes (just like her uncle’s) fixing on them with a dreamy expression.

“Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?” she said in a childlike tone of voice.

“This is Miss Marjorie Masters,” Mr. Novak said, ignoring her words. “She will teach you from now on.”

“Say you?” Claire replied, tilting her head. “Nay, pray you, mark.”

And without another word, she resumed her singing and twirling, as if Meg and Castiel were no more important than the flowers falling at her feet from her braid.

“ _White his shroud as the mountain snow_ ,” she sang again. “ _Larded with sweet flowers_ _, which bewept to the grave did go…_ ”

“Claire, I am begging you,” Mr. Novak said, though the way he gritted his teeth made it sound more like he was threatening her. “Stop this right now and come greet Miss Masters.”

“How are you doing, my pretty lady?” Meg asked. She didn’t know if it would work, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

Claire once more fixed her eyes on her. She graciously picked a flower from the floor and padded towards her, offering it to her.

“Well, God yield you!” she said, as she put it in Meg’s hand. “They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table!”

“Claire, for the last time…”

Claire stepped away and in a very swift movement, climbed on her bed.

“I hope all will be well. We must be patient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think they should lay him in the cold ground!” she exclaimed, making very exaggerated movements with her hands. “Come, my coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night!”

And with a dramatic cry, she flailed down on the covers, with an arm over her eyes.

Mr. Novak let out a deep, suffering sigh.

“I am very sorry, Miss Masters.”

“Please, don’t be,” Meg said. It was hard to contain her laughter, but she did her best to sound concerned anyway: “This is the poison of deep grief. It springs all from her father’s death.”

Mr. Novak frowned at her as if he had no clue what she was talking about, but Claire moved the arm from her eyes and lifted her head a little to look at her.

“When sorrows come, they come not single spies but in battalions,” Meg continued, hoping she was remembering it all correctly as she approached the bed and knelt by her side. “Poor Ophelia! Divided from herself and her fair judgment without which we are pictures or mere beasts.”

Claire sat up a little. The dreamy expression had abandoned her eyes, and instead, there was a curious look upon then.

“Do you know Shakespeare, Miss Masters?” she asked.

“He’s my favorite playwright,” Meg said. She offered Claire her hand and helped her stand up again. “You’re very smart for remembering it all so well.”

Claire smiled. It wasn’t the same vague smile as before, but a smirk of satisfaction that someone could recognize that.

“My father met my mother when she was performing and fell in love with her,” she told Meg candidly. “She was playing Juliet. Papa used to read some passages of the plays to me before going to sleep.”

“Claire…” Mr. Novak tried to interrupt.

“Uncle Castiel here thinks it’s not appropriate reading for a young, impressionable lady,” Claire continued, disregarding her uncle. “He even hid all of my father’s books.”

There was anger in her voice, as if by taking the books, Mr. Novak had taken her father from her all over again. But she was also looking closely at Meg, analyzing her, expecting. Meg understood she was being tested. If she answered wrongly, this opening that Claire had offered her would be shut tight and Meg could expect more dramatics and mischiefs during her stay at Heavenly Manor until she eventually ran like all the other governesses before her.

“What a monster,” she said, shaking her head in disapproval. “A young lady like you needs to have a good knowledge of poetry.”

She shot a glare at Mr. Novak. He was squinting at her, as if Meg had just performed a very complicated magic trick by getting Claire to talk to her like a normal person, and he was trying to figure out how she’d done it. When he realized both of them were now looking at him, he cleared his throat and stood even more stiffly than before.

“Well,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “Now that you’ve made acquaintances, perhaps I can escort Miss Masters to her room…”

“I’ll do it,” Claire offered. Her eyes were shiny, as if she had a lot of reasons to be excited.

For a moment or two, Mr. Novak looked at her like he was considering the pros and cons of that proposal, but in the end, he seemed to find no reason to object.

“Very well. But please, put on your shoes first.”

Claire groaned, but leaned down to pick up her shoes from underneath the bed. In the meantime, Meg decided the best way to actually talk to this girl and find out what she would be dealing with was to do it in private.

“I guess your job here is done, Mr. Novak,” she told him. “You may go on with your business.”

Mr. Novak stared at her. It was as if he realized he was being rudely dismissed in his home, but he wasn’t exactly sure how it was happening and why. Meg just kept smirking at him kindly, waiting for him to turn around.

“Yes, uncle, don’t worry about us,” Claire said, taking a little step towards Meg. “I’ll tell Miss Masters about everything else she might need to know.”

Mr. Novak still hesitated for a moment.

“Very well,” he agreed in the end, although he still seemed a bit reluctant. “I’ll see you both for supper, I supposed.”

And then, finally, he turned around and slowly walked away. Meg counted until the rhythmical thump of his cane disappeared and only then turned her attention back to Claire.

“Shall we?”

It turned out they didn’t have to go very far. Meg’s room was on the next door over. Her trunk and all her boxes had been neatly left to the side so no one could stumble on them upon entering the room. It was a bit smaller and more austere than Claire’s, with beige walls instead of lavender, and hideous burgundy curtains hanging over the windows. But it had everything she could possibly need: a small dresser, a bed that was bigger than her bunk in the ship and, most importantly, a desk.

Meg couldn’t help but to approach that first and place her hand over it with a certain reverence. It was made of oak, sturdy and shiny, with several drawers at both sides. It faced the window, so she could look at the great, green extensions beyond her window while writing.

She found it marvelous.

Claire sat on the bed even though Meg hadn’t invited her to do that.

“Where are you from, Miss Masters?” she asked, staring at her unashamedly.

“I’m from a small town in New Hampshire,” Meg explained as she took off her gloves and hanged her hat in the hanger assigned for that. “My father has a state too, although much smaller than your uncle’s, of course.”

“Papa and I lived in New York City,” Claire said. She sounded happy to find someone she could tell those things too. “We rented an attic overlooking the river. It was cramped and in winter it was very cold, but…”

She interrupted herself. Meg shot her a look of commiseration over her shoulder.

“It was your home,” she guessed.

Claire shrugged and looked away, apparently embarrassed that Meg had been able to see right through her. But a mere second later she went back to her interrogation.

“Why did you come here?”

“That’s funny. Your uncle asked me the same thing.” Meg opened her trunk and started pulling out her clothes to put them away. “Are my reasons for coming here really all that interesting?”

“Well, you might discover soon not many interesting things happen around here,” Claire said wryly. “I have to make my own entertainment. My uncle has a library, but he works there so he rarely allows me in. But I sneaked in once. All his books are boring, about history and politics and philosophy.”

She scrunched up her nose in disgust and Meg had to bite the interior of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. It wasn’t a good thing that Claire had sneaked in there and she wasn’t supposed to encourage that behavior.

“What were you looking for?” she asked, instead, because it was obvious Claire had gone to the library with a definitive purpose.

Claire blushed and didn’t say anything, much more concentrated in looking at the dresses Meg was pulling out from her trunk. She found a yellow one and with a glimmer in her eye, she grabbed it by the shoulders and held it up, as if she was mesmerized.

“Claire,” Meg called again, gently taking the dress from her hands. “Were you looking for your dad’s books?”

Claire didn’t answer. Meg put a hand underneath her chin and gently made her look at her. Her blue eyes were glimmering with barely contained fury.

“I know he has them somewhere,” she whispered. “They’re mine. I want them back.”

It made a lot of sense. She hated that place, she was homesick and those books were probably the most prized possession she had left from her father. Mr. Novak might have acted with good intentions, but he had been cruel in taking them away and Claire obviously resented him for it. All of this (the disrespect, the dramatics, the scaring off the previous governess) was a product of Claire rebelling in any small way she could against her destiny and her uncle.

Meg was arguably very talented at many things. She could speak perfect French, she had an extensive knowledge of math and poetry and she could insult people without them realizing they were being insulted. But she was also excellent at finding things other people weren’t able to see. In this case, that something was a small leverage and she intended to make full use of it.

“I will make you a deal,” she said. “I will help convince your uncle to give you back the books.”

Claire narrowed her eyes at her, probably unaware of how much she looked like Mr. Novak when she did that.

“And what do you ask in return?”

“Your cooperation and good behavior,” she told her. “I’m not your enemy, Claire. I hope we can work together.”

Claire still had suspicion in her eyes, but when Meg extended her hand towards her, she shook it firmly. Soon, though, a smirk appeared on her lips and before long she was quietly chuckling to herself.

“What’s so funny?” Meg asked, crooking an eyebrow.

“He is going to believe we understand each other because we’re both American,” Claire explained.

Meg had to admit that was rather amusing. Claire wasn’t really all that complicated or difficult as Mr. Novak had made it seem. It was just a matter of speaking to her in her own language.

* * *

Supper was served at seven o’clock, sharp. Everyone in the house went to bed early and woke up earlier still, as Claire explained to Meg with a cringe as she guided her downstairs to the dinner room. Meg was glad. She had eaten a frugal lunch on the way from the harbor and she had spent the afternoon putting away her things, trying to make her little austere room a little more her own (she would need to be rid of those curtains eventually). As a consequence, now she was starving.

“Miss Masters,” Mr. Novak greeted her when she walked into the dinner room.

He was standing awkwardly near the table and Meg deduced he hadn’t sat down so he wouldn’t have to stand up again once she and Claire entered the room. It probably put an unnecessary strain in his bad leg.

“Oh, please, you needn’t do that,” Meg said when she saw he was moving the chairs for them to sit.

“Don’t argue with him. It’s pointless,” Claire indicated as she sat down.

“Manners are important, Claire,” Mr. Novak said with a sigh, as if he had argued the same thing several times, to no avail. “They make people feel welcome to talk to you.”

Meg thought they make him look a little stiff and far too serious, but she wasn’t about to argue that.

“Surely, you must be excused from some common manners if they cause you… discomfort,” she said, cringing. She probably should have kept her mouth shut, but it was too late now.

Mr. Novak showed her a very wary smile and moved towards his chair at the head of the table. A second later, a door on the side opened and two women came in, balancing plates and glasses they set up neatly in front of them.

“Miss Masters, this is Mrs. Harvelle, my housekeeper,” she introduced the older woman to Meg. “And this is Joanna, her daughter.”

“Please, call me Jo,” the younger woman said, with a smile. A single lock of blonde hair had escaped her cap and she distractedly pushed it behind her ear.

“If you need anything, I’m sure they’ll be happy to provide it to you,” Mr. Novak continued. “Won’t you, Mrs. Harvelle?”

“Absolutely, sir.” Mrs. Harvelle flashed a quick smile before the stern look she’d had before returned to her face.

Meg glanced at Claire, who discreetly shook her head “no”. She grabbed her spoon and started sipping her soup with wolfish appetite. Meg was tempted to imitate her (the soup tasted like chicken and it was expertly seasoned), but she managed to keep her composure.

“Claire,” Mr. Novak groaned.

“I’m hungry,” Claire said between spoonful and spoonful.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t be hungry had you come down for lunch instead of staying in your room and playing Desdemona.”

“Ophelia,” Meg and Claire corrected him in unison.

“Yes,” Mr. Novak mumbled. “And please, sit up straight.”

Claire glared at him but she shifted back on the chair. She didn’t slow down her eating, though, so it was up to Meg to make a little conversation.

“You’re clearly not a Shakespeare connoisseur, are you, Mr. Novak?” she asked, hoping the sarcasm in her voice wouldn’t be too evident.

“No, Miss Masters, I am not,” Mr. Novak confirmed, unnecessarily. “To be honest with you, I don’t understand the appeal. The exulted emotions in his plays that usually end up in tragedy are so… uncomfortable to me.”

“Yes, emotions tend to have that unpleasant effect,” Meg said, cocking an eyebrow. “Yet, I believe passion is absolutely necessary. How else would you know you’re alive?”

Mr. Novak stared at her, almost as if he hadn’t been expecting her to contradict him or to bring up another argument about the topic.

“Perhaps,” he said, slowly. “But if passion isn’t reined in, it may lead to… unfortunate consequences. Mistakes.”

“Well, indeed,” Meg agreed. “That is after all the underlying meaning of many of Shakespeare’s tragedies. But he wasn’t denouncing passion itself, just the very human impulse of let yourself be carried away by it. Sometimes it’s inevitable. And not everything that comes from passion is a mistake.”

Mr. Novak said nothing to that. The way his frowned deepened and his lips parted in surprise as if he was puzzled by Meg’s statements were so comical she had to take a gulp from her glass of wine to not laugh at him. Claire was having a lot less success than she was, chuckling softly behind her napkin. This seemed to annoy Mr. Novak more than anything.

“I admit I am a businessman that has no understanding of those things. So perhaps it’s useless to argue with you about them, Miss Masters.”

“Thank you,” Meg replied, although she wasn’t sure she had been paid a compliment.

“However,” Mr. Novak added, “I would expect you’re not going to put such ideas in my niece’s head.”

Claire’s smile vanished immediately, but Meg kept hers on as if it was a shield.

“Of course not,” she said. “Would you like to discuss what I should be teaching her instead?”

They steered away from the topic just as easily as they had walked into it. Claire already knew how to read and write correctly, but Mr. Novak thought she needed refinement in other aspects of her education. Namely, he expected her to learn to paint or embroider or some other female activity like that. It was clear from Claire’s grimace that she didn’t like that idea, but she didn’t protest as she put a piece of the apple they served for dessert in her mouth.

“Her French, as well, needs perfecting.”

“I know how to speak French,” Claire protested.

“Not according to Mademoiselle Talbot, you don’t,” Mr. Novak pointed out.

Claire scoffed and looked away. Meg was willing to wager that her French was a lot better than Mr. Novak suspected; she had just pretended otherwise to give Mademoiselle Talbot a hard time.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Meg assured him.

“Very well,” Mr. Novak said. “I will depart for the city early in the morning, as there are some businesses there that need my attention. I’m sorry to leave you like this when you have just arrived, but I expect to come back in less than two weeks. You can send me a note should you need me here. I expect you will be comfortable.”

The candlelight made his eyes glimmer in a strange way. It was almost as if he was pleading with Meg to stay there and help him out with his nice. Meg simply smiled at him.

“Thank you, Mr. Novak. I’m sure I will be.”

Mrs. Harvelle and her daughter picked up the dishes and so Meg’s first dinner at Heavenly Manor came to an end. It was a little bit early for Meg’s taste, but when she asked Jo to provide her with some candles, she happily complied and guided her to the kitchen.

“Do you need me to wake you up tomorrow for breakfast?” she asked her. “Miss Claire always… sleeps until late.”

“We can’t have that.” Meg shook her head. “Wake me up early and do the same for her. If she gives you grief because of it, come see me right away.”

A slow grin expanded through Jo’s features, as if having the chance to annoy Claire was something she had always wanted to have.

“Yes, Miss Masters. Good night to you.”

Meg was about to leave when she was stopped at the doorway by Mrs. Harvelle. She had taken off her cup and she could see her dark brown hair tied up in a severe bun, almost as severe as the look she was given her.

“Miss Masters,” she began. “There’s something I need to tell you before you retire to bed tonight.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harvelle?” Meg asked, hoping to sound agreeable and cheery instead of a little offended by Mrs. Harvelle intercepting her so rudely.

“Mama…” Jo started, but Mrs. Harvelle ignored her, keeping her eyes fixed on Meg’s face.

“I have been with the Novak family for a very long time,” Mrs. Harvelle announced, as if it was necessary. Meg had known enough maids through her life to know that the longer they stayed with a family, the more liberties they could take, like talking directly with the governess, for example. “I took care of the children while the old Mr. Novak was still alive. When my Williams died, Castiel… Mr. Novak was kind enough to take me and my girl back into his service. As you can imagine, I am very thankful towards him.”

“Naturally,” Meg said, still unsure of where this conversation was supposed to go.

“And of course, I wouldn’t want any ill to befall him,” she said, narrowing her eyes at her. “Whether that ill comes in form of an unfortunate event or a person, I will try my best to protect him.”

“Your faithfulness towards your employer is commendable, Mrs. Harvelle,” Meg said, with a kind smile. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

Though she kept her pleasant demeanor, she understood precisely what Mrs. Harvelle was telling him: if Meg put one toe over the line, she would tell on her to Mr. Novak. Meg wasn’t sure there was anything she could do to prove to her that she didn’t wish Mr. Novak any ill. In fact, she wished nothing at all for him. The man was entirely indifferent to her for the time being and she didn’t know if that would change in the future.

Mrs. Harvelle glared at her for a moment more and nodded when she was certain Meg had got the message.

“Goodnight, Miss Masters.”

Meg climbed up the stairs (they certainly looked much longer and much more sinister now that it was dark) and entered her room. Finally, after it had been on the back of her mind for the entire dinner, she got to sit at the desk. She placed her candle over it and watched fascinated as the night breeze ran through the trees far away in the distance. They looked like they were dancers, with their hands stretched towards the starry sky.

Meg opened her bag, took out her ink and quill and her journal, found a blank page and began to write.


	2. Chapter 2

_My dearest Meg,_

_Tom and I were overjoyed to receive your letter and we are very glad that you’re settling in so well in your new job. I still struggle to understand what compelled you to move halfway across the world, but you have your mother’s spirit. Once you have made up your mind about something, it is nearly impossible to get you to change it._

_The house feels a lot bigger without you and Tom spends most of his of time in the town. I believe there is a girl that’s caught his fancy, but I cannot tell for sure right now. You know it would bring me great joy if you both married and started a family, but alas, Tom spends as much time with his friends and his horses as you do with your ink and your dreams._

_Your description of the Heavenly Manor was marvelous, dear, and I laughed out loud with your portrait of the coachman. I read it to Tom at dinner and he, too, agreed it was hilarious. I hope Mr. Novak is treating you well and wish you luck with your new pupil._

_I must leave you now, for we must start working already. Please write soon and write often._

_Missing you dearly,_

_Your loving father._

Meg smiled as she read the letter for the second time. She could perfectly well imagine her father, sitting at his desk first thing in the morning and writing to her so one of the servants could take it to the post office even before it was open. She kissed the signature before carefully folding the letter and putting it away in the chest over her desk. She took one last look in the mirror to make sure her appearance was at least presentable and left the room to start the day.

If she was being honest with herself, she needed to admit she might have been overly optimistic in the letters she had sent to her father. It was true that Heavenly Manor was beautiful and when she had a moment to admire the house and its surroundings, when she could walk through its fields in loneliness or sit by the creak that passed in front of its door, she felt as happy and inspired as anyone could be.

The problem was, most of the time, she couldn’t do these things. She was busy with Claire’s education, which was the reason she was living there, after all.

Earning the girl’s trust and obedience proved to be a much more difficult task than just promising the return of her father’s book. The problem was Claire had put up resistance to her governesses for so long that she wasn’t going to drop the habit easily, even if she had liked Meg at the start.

“Where is Claire?” she asked on the first morning after her arrival. She was the only one sitting on the table as Jo served her tea. There was only one other set on the table, Mr. Novak having apparently left at the crack of dawn for his businesses in town.

“I tried waking her up,” Jo said, with the expression of a martyr. “But she said she was still tired and didn’t want to have any breakfast.”

Mrs. Harvelle had a scowl on her face, but for once, her disapproval wasn’t aimed at Meg.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Masters,” she groaned. “She will get up in two hours more and demand to have breakfast then, even when we had already put everything away.”

“Oh, no.” Meg frowned. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Well, Mr. Novak doesn’t want his niece to go hungry, so he just told us to serve her breakfast whenever she asks us to…” Jo started explaining, but something in Meg’s face must have warned her it was in her best interest not to go on.

“Mr. Novak isn’t here today,” Meg said, standing up. “And Claire is my pupil, so I believe this is my decision to make.”

She marched upstairs with the two maids behind her. They didn’t say a word, but Meg could feel their stares in the back of their head. She approached Claire’s door and knocked firmly a couple of times.

“I already told you, Jo, I’m still tired!” Claire screamed from the inside. “Leave me alone!”

“That is no way to speak to anybody, Claire,” Meg replied. “Get up and come downstairs for breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Claire replied. Her bravado was a little mellower, perhaps because she wasn’t sure what Meg’s limits were. “I’ll come down later.”

“Later there won’t be any breakfast,” Meg argued. “So you come down at once or you’ll be hungry later.”

Claire made a sound it took her a few seconds to identify. It was something between a scoff and a snicker. Meg knew right away she had heard that threat far too many times and never seen it come to fruition, so it wasn’t believable for her anymore.

Well, it was time she learned to respect it again.

“Fine. You’ve been warned,” Meg turned her gaze to Mrs. Harvelle and Jo. “You will pick up the table when I am done eating. If Claire comes down and demands breakfast, she may have a piece of fruit and if she doesn’t want it, she may have nothing until lunch.”

Both women stared at her wide eyed, as if they hadn’t expected her to start imparting discipline so soon.

“Claire will tell her uncle we starved her,” Jo argued. Meg knew she’d also had that argument with other governesses before her.

“If she does, you may tell him you were just following my orders. And I will accept the consequences of it. Now, if you can bring me the newspaper to accompany my breakfast that would be delightful.”

She moved to go back to the breakfast table, hoping her tea hadn’t grown cold during all of this fuss. She also noticed the Mrs. Harvelle’s scowl had softened a little, as if she was impressed with Meg’s efforts but would reserve her judgment until they saw results.

It took a while. After the first day, in which Claire realized Meg was being entirely serious about the breakfast time, she loudly refused to follow the lesson about arithmetic Meg had prepared for the afternoon.

“I will tell my uncle what you did,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and refusing to even look at the book Meg had left over her desk.

“Very well. I will tell your uncle not to give you back your father’s books,” Meg shrugged. “Now, let’s start with some simple exercises. Claire, you’re not paying attention.”

Claire was too busy staring at Meg, dumbfounded, to even consider paying attention to the numbers.

“You promised!” she exclaimed, indignant.

“On the condition of your cooperation,” Meg reminded her. “I see none here, therefore, I will not advocate for you. Now, open your book, please.”

Claire stood up with her cheeks burning red and stormed out of the study room, angrily slamming the door behind her. Meg made no effort to go after her and the following day, when Claire locked herself in the room and declared she would not be coming down for breakfast, lunch or dinner, Meg shrugged and decided to have supper in the kitchen with Mrs. Harvelle and Jo.

“Do you really think this will work with her?” Mrs. Harvelle asked.

“I hope it will. Claire is a smart girl. She’ll realize that it’s in best interest to have me as her friend,” Meg replied with a shrug.

“Well, it better work before Mr. Novak gets back,” Jo commented with a smirk. Her mother glared at her and Jo quickly lowered her eyes to her plate and continued eating in silence.

“He seems like such a… restrained man in other aspects,” Meg said, choosing her words carefully. “I find it surprising that he is so indulgent of Claire’s tantrums.”

“He feels guilty,” Mrs. Harvelle explained. “He loved Jimmy… James very much. But when the old Mr. Novak forbid him to have any contact with him, Castiel followed his orders blindly. He regrets not writing to Jimmy and finding out about the conditions he and his daughter lived in sooner.”

Meg reflected long about this. Claire had been very close to her father, who probably had spoiled her and let her do whatever she wanted. Now she was strong-willed against his uncle guilt, and while that, in her opinion, wasn’t a bad trait for a young lady to have, it was better to have it aimed at other problems Claire may encounter in the future. So that would be the next step in her education.

After two days of voluntary starvation (though Meg knew for a fact Jo smuggled a loaf of bread and some water upstairs), Claire finally came down. She looked pale and defeated, but neither Meg nor Mrs. Harvelle made any comment about it. Mrs. Harvelle simply put the cup in front of her and poured the tea as if it was a daily occurrence before leaving them alone.

“How did you sleep, Claire?” Meg asked.

Claire glared at her. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all, like she had been debating all night if Meg would really let her starve or if Claire could keep living on the bread Jo passed her until Mr. Novak came back and still win this battle of wills. In the end, apparently, her hunger had been greater, so there she was, sipping her tea in defiant silence.

“I hope you’ll be ready for today’s lesson,” Meg told her. Claire bit into her toast and chewed it very slowly. “It’s good manners to reply when someone speaks to you, Claire.”

Claire put down her toast and glanced at Meg.

“I thought you’d be different,” she said in the end, resentment seeping into her voice.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I thought you would understand,” Claire insisted. “I hate it here and I don’t want to be a proper young lady to be married off to the highest bidder. I just want to go home!”

Her voice broke at the end of that sentence and she looked away. Meg saw the tears welling up down her cheeks anyway.

“Have you told this to your uncle?” Meg asked. Claire scoffed and shook her head, still apparently too sensitive to speak. “Well, then, how do you expect him to know? He’s only doing what he thinks it’s best for you; trying to get you to do what he has been taught his whole life women are supposed to do.”

“Nobody asked him to,” Claire grumbled.

“Your father asked him to,” Meg said, coldly. Slowly, Claire raised her eyes at her. They were puffy and humid, and Meg suspected it wasn’t the first time she had cried in the past few days. “Like it or not, your home is here with your uncle now and it would be much easier for you if you tried to make the best of your circumstances instead of rebelling against them in vain.”

Claire seemed a little stunned. It was likely the first time in a long time somebody talked to her with such directness and honesty. And to her credit, she didn’t seem ungrateful for it.

“How do I make the best of this?” she asked, instead. She sounded skeptical, as if she didn’t think there was a way to do that at all.

“Take advantage of the education your uncle is trying to provide for you,” Meg advised her. “Realize you’re not the only one who has suffered a loss. He did too and now you’re the only family he has left as he is yours. Think, girl. Look around you. Does this look like the home of a man who needs to marry his only heir to the highest bidder? Do you think your uncle needs more fortune than he already has? It’s more likely that when you’re presented in society, there’ll be all sorts of gentlemen fighting for your hand, and you can have the luxury of rejecting them if they’re not to your liking because they will need you more than you will need them. Do you know how many women would die to have that privilege?”

Meg realized she had raised her voice an octave and took a deep breath to still herself. Claire’s lower lip was trembling, as if she was trying to contain her tears again.

“Do you really think he won’t choose for me?” Claire asked. Apparently, Meg had hit the nail in the head with that statement, as that seemed to be Claire’s biggest fear.

“I’ve known your uncle very briefly,” she confessed. “He seems earnest, but very concerned about you. I am certain he wouldn’t try to force you into something that makes you unhappy, but only if you show him you have the sense to make good decisions for yourself.”

Claire stayed in silence for a very long time and Meg continued having her breakfast, letting her digest what she had just told her.

“If you’re done, then we will begin the lesson shortly.”

Claire had only barely picked her toast and she opened her mouth as if she was about to argue, but must have known she was in no position to do so. But of course, she couldn’t accept it without at least protesting a little bit.

“I despise arithmetic.”

“The sooner we start, the sooner you’ll be done with it for the day,” Meg replied.

Claire didn’t seem convinced that was the best way to go about it, but at least she attempted to do all the exercises Meg put in front of her. She hadn’t lied: she and the numbers just didn’t agree on anything and her frustration was evident in how much she squeezed the chalk and gritted her teeth as she tried to calculate.

But at least she was doing it. Meg counted that as a triumph.

And arithmetic was in fact the only aspect in which Claire flunked. Her eyes lit up the day Meg announced they were reading poetry. She memorized all the material Meg gave to her faster than Meg could find new ones. She stood on her chair, her cheeks burning red and her voice clear and melodious while she recited them. Meg didn’t believe talent was transmitted by blood, but in occasions like that; it was easy to see Claire’s mother had been an actress.

She also wasn’t joking when she said she knew how to speak French. Her accent was near perfect and sometimes they had entire conversations in that language over dinner. Meg’s suspicion that she had pretended to be inept at speaking it to annoy Mademoiselle Talbot turned out to be entirely correct.

“She was such an unpleasant woman,” she complained one time while they were painting on the balcony one afternoon. It was the fall, but the weather was still pretty warm and there were nothing more than a few stains of golden and yellow here and there in the woods beyond the state. “Always with her nose stuck up high, making comments about ‘colonial girls’. But of course, whenever my uncle was around, she turned into pure smiles and kindness.”

“He was her employer after all.”

“No, you don’t understand. It was so… desperate,” Claire insisted, frowning. It was hard to know if it was because her drawing wasn’t coming out how she wanted it to or because the memory of Mademoiselle Talbot upset her. “Almost as if she was expecting my uncle would fall in love with her and she could marry into his fortune and live comfortable the rest of her days.”

“And how did your uncle react?” Meg said, trying (and failing) to picture such a scene.

“He never realized. Or if he did, he chose to ignore her so Mademoiselle Talbot could save face. Women act like that around him, you know,” she added, as she smudged the pastels with her fingers. “I’ve seen it. When we go to the church or to the town, they’re always trying to get him to notice them.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Meg said, mindlessly.

Claire stopped paying attention to her painting and slowly turned her head towards Meg.

“He’s a good-looking gentleman of fortune,” Meg declared, trying to ignore the fact her blood was rushing towards her cheeks. “And he is a bachelor. Of course some women are going to try to catch his eye.”

“Not you, though. Would you?”

“That’d be not only inappropriate but also ridiculous, Claire,” Meg replied, not looking at the girl as she continued her own drawing of the countryside in front of them. “Besides, I am not interested in marriage at the time being. I have other priorities for myself.”

When she looked again, Claire was staring at her with eyes wide open and her mouth agape, as if Meg had suddenly sprouted a second head.

“But you’re… you have to be at least twenty five years old.”

“Your uncle is at least seven years older than me and he isn’t married either. And for what you’ve told me, he seems uninterested in trying to find a wife. So I fail to see what your argument about age has anything to do with marriage,” Meg replied with a shrug.

But of course she knew what Claire meant: most women her age were looking for a husband, if they weren’t married and expecting their third child already. They needed the stability and the protection a man provided and the safety to know there would be someone caring for them. Meg’s father had a modest income thanks to the farm that her brother, Tom, would inherit upon his death. Other fathers would have expected Meg to marry someone of higher or at least equal condition to them so she wouldn’t be a burden on her brother when that happened, but Meg had found an alternative that seemed to satisfy everybody. She had studied so she could teach at the city’s dame school and when Mr. Novak’s letter came soliciting a governess, she had been the only one to volunteer to take the job, all so she could earn her own money.

Even if this failed and she had to go back home, it didn’t bother her as much. When Tom got married (despite her father’s doubts, Meg was certain it was just a matter of time until he impregnated some poor girl in the town), she could volunteer to educate his children and help raise them so she had her place ensured at her own home. And in the meantime, the lack of a husband or children left her plenty of time to what she really wanted to do: write. Which was, as she had been told many times, a silly activity for a lady to have and she couldn’t expect it to report her much income. So she had to make due with her job.

But she wasn’t going to explain all of this to Claire. She was still very young and had plenty of time to decide whether she wished to marry or be a spinster such as Meg had resigned herself to be. And she didn’t want Mr. Novak to accuse her of putting dangerous ideas on his niece’s head.

For now, she was blushing as if she realized she had misspoken.

“I… I wasn’t trying to be offensive,” she said. “I’m sorry, Miss Masters.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me, Claire.” Meg smiled at her to let her know it wasn’t a problem. “I know it came from a good place and I know my choices are unconventional. I just happen to think that only true love should lead to marriage and that’s why I envy a little the people who have the luxury of pursuing it.”

“My father thought the same way,” Claire said. “He was engaged to another woman before he met my mother. That is why he and my grandfather had that big a fight.”

It was Meg’s turn to look at the girl with open surprise.

“He told me everything while he was… when he fell ill,” Claire explained. Her nose crunched up a little and she pretended to be very concentrated in her picture. “So I would understand what I could find when I came here. He didn’t know Grandfather had already passed away.”

“I see,” Meg muttered. She put her pastels down and cleaned her hands on the rag they had for that purpose. “Claire, you need to stop saying everything that comes to your mind.”

“Why?” Claire asked, tilting her head in confusion. Meg wonder if she knew how much like her uncle that made her seem.

“Well, because as you said very well, some people might take offense even if you didn’t intend it that way,” Meg explained. “And if you go around telling everybody your family’s history, they might think you’re indiscreet or even try to take some sort of advantage from it.”

"I'm sure everybody already knows the family history," Claire said, with a snort. "Jo told me it was a great scandal back then."

"Gossiping is unladylike and you should avoid it. Hearsay isn't a correct way to form an opinion on someone and if you attend to it, don't be angry when people form opinions of you based on what they’d heard about you and your family."

Claire pursed her lips as she always did when she was about to protest for something. But at that moment a shadow moving in the distance interrupted their talk. It was Dean Winchesters, one of the stable boys, pulling the reins of a horse, his shadow enlarged by the setting sun.

Although not him or his brother Sam could be properly called "boys": they were both grown young men, tall and strong if the outline of their muscles bulging through their clothes was anything to go by. Meg sometimes enjoyed watching them work with the horses and other heavy activities that Mrs. Harvelle needed them for in the house. It was a shame, she thought as Dean disappeared with the horse, that the Winchester boys were of such low condition. She wouldn't have minded meeting a man with their characteristics who also happened to be in possession of a good fortune.

Dean came back and this time, he was met halfway by Jo. She had taken her cap off, so her straight blonde hair fell over her shoulders. Dean stopped, very rigid in her presence, but accepted the jar of water she brought to him.

"I think Jo fancies him," Claire commented. "Do you think he fancies her back?"

Meg was too busy watching the way Dean's Adam apple moved up and down as he drank to truly register her pupil's comment.

"What did I just say about gossiping?"

"I wasn't gossiping as in, I wasn't repeating anything I heard," Claire said, with a shrug. "I was merely stating an opinion."

Meg kept staring at her until Claire realized the reason.

"Which is another thing I have to be careful with," she admitted through gritted teeth.

"Good," Meg approved. "Now, pick up your things. We've lost the daylight and I'm sure Mrs. Harvelle will be mad if we're late for dinner."

And if Jo and Dean started flirting, she didn't want Claire to see it. That girl didn't need any more romantic ideas than the ones her father had already planted in her head.

* * *

Meg was so busy with Claire's lessons, her letters to home and her writing (she was struggling to find a good conclusion to the short story she was working on) that she barely realized that two weeks had passed. She was startled when she walked into the dining room one morning and found Mr. Novak sitting at the head of the table. A cup of tea hanged in his hand, forgotten as he stared at her with his enormous blue eyes, as if he too had been surprised by Meg.

After a few seconds of that uncomfortable staring, he cleared his throat.

"Good morning, Miss Masters," he said, putting the cup down and beginning to stand up.

"Please, don't," Meg said, shaking her head. "I didn't know you were back, Mr. Novak."

"I came back late last night..." he started but he was interrupted when a flurry in a white dress and blonde hair entered the room.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't find my bow... uncle!" she said, stopping on her tracks. "You came back."

This time, Mr. Novak certainly looked like he had seen a ghost.

"And you're up early," he said, looking at her up and down. "And fully dressed."

Claire opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if she wasn't sure what to answer to that statement. Meg put a hand on her shoulder.

"Let's just have breakfast, shall we?"

It was… unusual. After so many mornings in which Meg and Claire sat and ate in silence (Claire wasn't completely awake until the second piece of bread with butter, Meg had realized that), it was strange to have someone else sitting with them. Mr. Novak also seemed uncomfortable. Since Claire kept such odd times, he was probably used to having breakfast alone, so now he moved rigidly every time he reached for something. He kept throwing glances at Claire; as if he wasn't quite sure he believed what he was seeing.

"So... how were your businesses in the city?" Meg asked him, trying to make some polite conversation to curb the awkwardness.

"They were... fine. Mostly boring meetings," Mr. Novak replied, forcing himself to center his eyes on Meg. "I'm more interested in hearing how things around here were."

"Very calm," Meg said, deciding he didn't need to know about the tantrum Claire threw during the first couple of days. "We've started our lessons and they're going very well. Claire is really amazing at reciting poetry."

"I'm not surprised to hear that," Mr. Novak said. He looked like he was going to add something, but at the last moment, he went quiet, so Meg continued:

"And her French is much better than you seem to believe. Not all are good news, though: I’m afraid her arithmetic is a disaster, but we will get it to improve overtime."

"I'm... I'm not that bad," Claire protested. Meg merely smirked at her and a second later, the girl was doing the same thing, realizing her governess was just teasing her.

"So you've been taking your lessons?" Mr. Novak asked. He couldn't hide how impressed he felt, even if he had tried it. "All of them? No storming out or running through the field without your shoes?"

"No, uncle, I haven't done that lately," Claire said. It was as if it hurt her physically not to roll her eyes at him. "But thank you for reminding me. I might take it up again soon."

“Please, don’t,” Mr. Novak begged quickly.

Meg placed a napkin against her mouth and pretended to have a coughing fit to stifle her laughter.

But Mr. Novak seemed very pleased. The rest of the breakfast passed in relative quietness, with Mr. Novak commenting on the things he had seen at the city and throwing out the possibility of taking them with him the next time he went there.

“I have met with some of my cousins and aunts,” he commented. “They’re… excited about meeting you.”

“Why?” Claire asked, frowning. Meg cleared her throat to indicate her one-word response wasn’t exactly polite. “I mean, why would they…?”

“You’re Jimmy’s daughter,” Mr. Novak pointed out as if it was pretty clear. “Of course they’re interested in seeing you.”

“What kind of people are they?” Claire asked.

“They’re… people, Claire,” Mr. Novak said, as if he wasn’t sure what kind of answer was his niece looking for. “Your aunt Hannah has a daughter your age, Hael. I think you two would get along very well.”

Meg understood immediately what was going on there. Mr. Novak was hoping to get Claire out of the house, socialize and make some friends. That was actually a pretty great idea. Certainly it would help Claire feel less isolated and bored in that enormous house with nothing but fields and hills all around.

Claire, on the other hand, didn’t seem so sure.

“What makes you say that?” she asked. “Does she like to read the same poetry I do?”

“I’m not sure…”

“What does she do, then?” Claire insisted. “What are her interests?”

“I… I think she plays the piano,” Mr. Novak stuttered. “And as for the rest, maybe you can ask her when you meet her personally this winter. They will come and stay around Christmas.”

That was still two months away, but Claire looked as if Mr. Novak had announced her cousin would be arriving the following day and kicking her out of her room. Meg decided it was best to end the conversation there before she said something unfortunate to kill the good mood.

“Well, if you’re done with breakfast, I think it’s time we tend to your lessons,” she said. “We have to make the most of the morning, after all.”

“Of course,” Claire said, with just barely a hint of sarcasm in her voice. But she did stood up and moved away when Mrs. Harvelle came to pick up the dishes.

Meg also got up and so did Mr. Novak. He called her before she could take a step towards the door.

“I would like to have a word with you,” he said. “Would you be so kind to come to my business room?”

Claire and Meg exchanged a look of disconcert, but Meg recovered quickly.

“Go open your books, Claire, and start writing down the doubts you have,” she indicated. “We will revise them as soon as I get there.”

Claire threw another look at her uncle, as if she wanted to say something else, but in the end, she just left in the classroom’s direction. Meg followed Mr. Novak down the hallway. His business room was next to the library and the two were connected through a large wooden door. Meg wondered if he left it unlocked and if Claire had been able to go through it when she came snooping, looking for her father’s books before turning around and giving the rest of the room a quick look.

Mr. Novak’s business room reflected its occupant’s character quite well. It was scarcely decorated, with a vase of flowers in the corner that was likely Mrs. Harvelle’s idea and a few pictures on the walls of different landscapes. Most of the space was occupied by a desk even larger than the one in her room and two armchairs in front of the chimney. The main wall was covered with shelves overflowing with books and a closer look showed that most of them had their backs creased. Meg deduced that was Mr. Novak’s personal selection, the books he didn’t want to be parted with.

It was a strange thing to realize that Mr. Novak hadn't really tried bonding with Claire over their shared love of books and poetry. Why wouldn't he? Why was this something that hadn't crossed his mind? Though, judging by the state of the room (the wilting flowers, there was dust over the chimney’s shelf) he didn't let a lot of people inside that study, and it was probably the same case for his life.

He cleared his throat and Meg stopped staring at his objects and focused his attention back to him.

"I wanted to thank you," he started, as he leaned over the desk, his hands still holding on tight to his cane. "None of the other governesses had the results you've had with Claire, and in such a short time, too. I'm very pleased."

"Well, it wasn't that hard," Meg replied, with a shrug she hoped looked humble enough. "Claire is an extremely smart girl. It's just a matter of finding a way of… talking to her."

Mr. Novak nodded to every single one of her words, almost as an enthusiastic student would when receiving an especially interesting lesson by a good teacher.

"Please, explain it to me," he begged. "I have been trying for the past year to get her to… but it just seems that whatever I do is wrong for her."

"Perhaps because you have been giving in to every single one of her demands," Meg said and Mr. Novak lowered his eyes, apparently embarrassed that she had caught him in that mistakes. "It's perfectly understandable. You wanted her to feel welcomed here; you wanted to show her that this could be her home."

He let out a big sigh of relief, as if he couldn’t believe someone was finally understanding his tribulations.

"I don't know how to help her," he admitted, frustrated. "I know she needs discipline, but I don't want her to feel like this is a terrible place and she's a prisoner here"

"Now who's showing his flair for the dramatic?" Meg snickered.

Mr. Novak looked at her with such puzzled expression Meg couldn't help but to wonder if it was possible that no one had ever jested with him before.

"I only meant because..."

"I know what you meant," he replied. Slowly, but surely, his lips stretched in a shy smile. "Perhaps it was a bit too dramatic."

Meg understood what Claire had said about the women trying to catch his eye. She had noticed before her employer was a handsome man, but when he smiled, he looked even friendlier and kinder than before. He looked like… an angel.

She dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. They had a professional relationship and she had no right to be thinking about him that way.

"What can I do?" he asked in the end. "What can I do to show her I’m not her enemy?"

"Well… there are some things she confided in me," Meg said, very slowly. "But you have to promise me not to mention them to her, or she won't trust me again with her feelings.

"You have my word."

Meg told him about the fears Claire had about marriage and how she wouldn't be able to choose. Mr. Novak rubbed his temple with his right hand, while he clutched onto his cane even tighter with the left. It was pretty clear this information didn't exactly surprise him.

"My brother was engaged to another woman," he told Meg. "Before he eloped with Claire's mother; that is. She wasn't… she wasn't a bad girl, but he didn't love her. Nevertheless, our father made him promise he would marry her and Jimmy was miserable because of it. It's obvious where Claire's concern for being unable to choose come from."

Meg said nothing. She didn't want to confirm to him that she was already privy to that information, because she wasn't sure how much of the scandal she was supposed to know about after all.

"Of course I wouldn't force her to marry someone she didn’t want," Mr. Novak concluded. "I want her to be happy. And in any case, she is still too young to be thinking about marriage. She hasn't even been presented in society." He stopped and tilted his head, as if he was thinking about something very complex. "Do you think she would want to have such a thing?"

"I don't know, Mr. Novak," Meg answered, sincerely. "Perhaps you should ask her directly."

“Perhaps I should,” he agreed. He breathed in deeply and nodded. “Anything else?”

“Her books, Mr. Novak,” Meg said, as if that was obvious. Mr. Novak’s frown immediately deepened. “You could give them back to her.”

“Absolutely not.” Mr. Novak stuck her chin up in the air right before he turned his back on her. “You may go now, Miss Masters.”

“Why?” Meg asked. His fast and adverse reaction was surprising to say the least. She didn’t think it was such a big problem. Clearly, she was wrong. “They’re important to her. They’re an heirloom from her father…”

“I understand she has an emotional attachment to them and that’s exactly the problem,” Castiel interrupted Meg. “She is too emotional as it is. She already has too many romantic ideas and I don’t want her to get any more.”

Meg felt the blood boiling in her veins. Of course, it was the same thing she had told Claire, but to hear it outlined so clearly and dismissively angered for some reason. Perhaps because she could understand that girl and the fear and uncertainty she went through when she thought about the future.

“Ideas can’t hurt her,” she replied, hoping her face wasn’t as red as she felt it. She knew some men had the habit of dismissing her if they thought she was being “too emotional”. “Just because she reads those plays doesn’t mean she’s going to run away with the first boy that she sets eyes on. You need to have a little more trust in her, Mr. Novak.”

Mr. Novak raised his eyes at her, and for once, they weren’t the kind, calm blue that she had seen before. On the contrary, it seemed like they were sparkling with pure anger that she would dare question his judgment on this topic.

“I’m not giving her back the books. And that’s the end of the discussion.”

Meg didn’t wait for him to dismiss her. She was too furious and she would probably had answered him with something either sarcastic or downright rude. Although the way she turned around and marched out of the room couldn’t be considered polite either. She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

Claire craned her neck and her when she strode into the classroom and sat down at her desk. She raised her eyebrows in surprise when Meg almost slammed the door behind her.

“Uh… Miss Masters?”

“Claire, I’m going to get those books back to you,” Meg swore. “Even if it’s the last thing I do.”


	3. Chapter 3

The house didn’t feel the same.

Castiel didn’t know when he realized it, but the truth is that if he stopped to think about it, it hadn’t felt the same since he’d received a letter from Jimmy, begging him to take Claire in. He had sent her off with the explicit instructions to look for accommodation and dispatch that letter as soon as she arrived in London and wait for him to pick her up.

Castiel wondered sometimes what would have happened to his niece had anything occurred that could disrupt that plan. If the letter had gone missing, or if the money Claire had for lodging ran out. What if Father had still been alive and had intercepted the letter? Would he have forbidden Castiel to look for her?

He wished Jimmy was alive sometimes, if only to tell him how reckless and dangerous the plan to send Claire alone had been. At the same time, though, he understood why his brother had done it. The letter detailed how much of the money Jimmy had managed to save up with his meager jobs here and there had gone to pay off his debts and his funeral arrangements. When all was said and done, Claire would have barely pennies to survive, she was far too young and too stubborn. Sending her back home (Castiel’s heart still shrunk when he read Jimmy referring to the manor as “home” again) was the best option.

Castiel had sent a letter back that he was on his way and travelled as fast as Mr. Singer dared press on the horses. He’d found the small inn where Claire had spent the night and had to prove to Mrs. Mills, the innkeeper, that he was indeed who he said he was before she would even let him see Claire.

“That girl has had a harrowing journey and I’m not just gonna let her walk out of here with the first fancy lord that claims to be her uncle,” she’d said, waving her finger in front of Castiel’s face to punctuate her threats.

Castiel couldn’t help but to think of her as a guardian angel, looking out for Claire when she had been alone and scared in a completely different country she didn’t know. He understood and was thankful that someone looked out for his niece, which is why he didn’t take her threats personally.

“Please, let me speak to her,” Castiel had begged her. “She will know who I am.”

He didn’t elaborate on the fact that Jimmy had been his twin brother. When they were young, they would play games, exchanging their clothes or talk and move similarly enough that people couldn’t tell them apart. As they’d grown older, though, the physical similarities had remained, but their temperaments and moods had become very different. Jimmy was more outgoing and sociable, while Castiel had a tendency to favor his own company.

Many times since his brother had left, Castiel had wondered if the different weather in America, if the lives they were leading so far apart, had ended up erasing those differences as well. It seemed not, because the moment Claire stepped into the inn’s lobby and took a look at his face, her eyes had welled up with tears and her lips had begun trembling. Castiel understood. To her, it must have looked like her father’s ghost was standing in front of her. To him, she looked more like a little girl than a young girl of fifteen.

He’d taken a few hesitant steps towards her and put a hand underneath her chin. She looked a lot like her mother, with her delicate features, her round cheeks and her long, blonde hair. But the blue eyes that stared back at him matched his, matched Jimmy’s.

“I am your Uncle Castiel, Claire,” he’d told her.

Claire had taken in a sharp breath and stepped back, straightening her shoulders as she did so.

“Right. Of course you are,” she’d muttered.

“You will be living with me from now on.”

“Yes. Thank you,” she’d mumbled. She quickly wiped away at her eyes, and Castiel pretended he hadn’t noticed it. “Should I… go get my things?”

“Mr. Singer can take care of that,” Castiel had said, making a gesture to the man. “You and I will wait in the carriage. We have much to discuss.”

Despite him saying that, they haven’t spoken much at all on the travel back to Heavenly Manor. Castiel didn’t know what would be appropriate to ask her (even if he did have a bunch of burning questions, especially about Jimmy and the life he’d led so far away), and Claire kept her eyes downcast and her hands crossed over her lap. He’d had the impression that she was trying not to burst into tears in front of him.

He hadn’t been prepared for that. He was perplexed about the situation and he hadn’t hesitated in going to fetch Claire. She was his blood, after all, and all the changes necessary for her would have to be made in time. He was performing his duty towards his family, as he always had, because that was what he was meant to do.

But he wasn’t sure what to do with the grief that emanated from Claire, with how vulnerable and lost and scared she looked sitting there in front of him. He wanted to console her, to assure her that though her life had been uprooted entirely and the losses she’d sustained were unspeakable, she would find a friend and a guardian in him.

He couldn’t do that. He had never been good at expressing himself with words, so instead, he just kept quiet until they were at the manor and he started her introducing her to the servants and showing her around. Claire’s eyes had grown so wide, like she hadn’t imagined the house would be that big and she felt lost in all of that immensity.

“You are welcome to go everywhere you want, except my studio,” Castiel had told her. “For now, you can do as you please, but I will be getting you a governess soon.”

“A governess?” Claire had repeated, as if she had no idea what that word means.

“I am hardly capacitated to give you the education your father would’ve wanted you to have.”

She didn’t protest to that and for the first few weeks or so, she had barely gone out of her room except for meals or to go to church. Mrs. Harvelle had insisted that he needed to take her out, that she was going to be sick if she didn’t get enough fresh air and sunlight, but Castiel kept using his leg as an excuse not to do that. The truth was, he was deeply disturbed by his niece’s presence in the house, but all the plans and changes he had to do now. He was happy living on his own, isolated from the world except for when he had business to tend to. But Claire couldn’t live like that, she was a young lady who needed to have friends and connections and, eventually, a husband and a family.

He’d written desperately to Hannah with the news, requesting her advice and though Hannah was of half a mind to show up at the manor immediately and take charge of the situation (she had raised two children, one of them a girl of Claire's age), she concluded it was best to wait until Claire was more acclimated to her new life and instead sent some names for governesses Castiel could hire.

That had been when the problems began and the true scope of the way his life had been upset started to settle in.

Not a day went by without Mrs. Carrigan, the first governess, showing up at his business room at the edge of tears. She was an old widow, well-meaning, but as she herself said, unable to keep up with Claire’s “liveliness”.

“The girl needs someone younger who can run after her when she gets it into that little head of hers that she won’t attend her lessons,” she’d told Castiel when she’d asked him to be dismissed. “My old bones just aren’t up to the task, I’m afraid.”

She’d seemed almost relieved when Castiel had let her go. Her replacement, Miss Campbell, a much younger woman who was a distant cousin of the Winchester boys, only stayed with them for two months before she decided her upcoming marriage was more important, but Castiel had the patent impression she wasn’t being entirely honest. She never complained about Claire, but her short-live stay at the manor should have been a sign that things weren’t entirely happy between the two.

But even though Claire’s rebellious behavior became more and more prominent (she showed later and later for breakfast until she didn’t show up at all anymore), nothing could have prepared him for the massive tantrums and fits she threw under the care of Mademoiselle Talbot.

Jo Harvelle had burst into his studio, with her cheeks red and her braid half-undone. Castiel barely had time to chastise her for walking in like that when, almost crying, she’d informed him that Claire and her governess were having a terrible row and he needed to intervene.

She wasn’t exaggerating.

“You will do as I tell you, and that’s the end of it!”

“I won’t and you can’t make me!” Claire screamed out. Her cheeks were burning red and she was standing on top of her chair, her blue eyes shimmering with pure anger. “That is not how…”

“Claire!”

Claire immediately jumped down from her chair and stared at him, her eyes opening wide in fear for a second before she lowered her eyes again.

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Castiel demanded to know.

Claire opened her mouth, but Mademoiselle Talbot spoke up before he did.

“Oh, Mr. Novak, I’m afraid your niece is nothing but an undisciplined child!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “Please, sir, you don’t know the way she spoke to me!”

Castiel wasn’t sure what had started the row, but he’d had to agree with the governess that Claire shouldn’t be speaking to her like that.

“But she was wrong!” Claire had argued, over and over he’d sent her off to her room and left Mademoiselle Talbot in Mrs. Harvelle’s hands to calm down her nerves. “She didn’t like me telling her she was wrong, but…”

“I don’t care. You cannot scream at people and stand on the furniture, Claire. It’s unseemly.”

He let it slide that one time, but the next time, he had no choice but to take her books away. The tantrum she threw at that was terrible, crying and screaming and telling him he was the cruelest person in the world. She stood on the edge of saying she hated him, but even if the words weren’t said out loud, he felt them floating in the air, heavy and charged.

He was reminded more than ever of Jimmy, of the terrible fights he’d had with their father right before he’d eloped. And his heart had sunk in his chest, but Mademoiselle Talbot had assured him he was doing the right thing.

“The girl needs to abandon all her flights of fancy already. She is too old to keep acting this way.”

“I completely agree. With everything she has been through, I thought she might have matured faster than expected,” he’d confessed.

“Well, it’s understandable. She doesn’t know how to act like a lady. She never had the example of a mother.”

“That is why I brought you here, Mademoiselle Talbot,” Castiel had pointed out. “I was hoping you would set her to rights.”

Mademoiselle Talbot had delicately touched the necklace around her neck and laughed. She was a beautiful woman, and he had no doubt she was smart as well, but there was something about her that Castiel never quite understood.

“Well, of course, I am trying my best,” she’d said. “But she doesn’t quite respect my authority. She doesn’t see me as part of the family, I believe…”

“I am part of the family and she doesn’t respect my decisions either,” Castiel had complained. “So I’m afraid I can’t offer help with that.”

Mademoiselle Talbot had pursed her lips and ended the conversation rather abruptly. Castiel had spent a while after wondering if he’d said something wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time, certainly, or the last one, that he’d inadvertedly offended a lady. Hannah used to mock him about it on regular basis when they were younger.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Claire’s temper didn’t subside, and her fighting with Mademoiselle Talbot merely escalated until the poor woman decided to leave. And his niece had put her through so much anguish that Castiel didn’t have the heart to ask her to stay.

“What am I going to do about you, Claire?” he’d sighed, frustrated.

“Am I just a thing that you need to do something about?” Claire had asked him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, why don’t you put me in the attic and forget about me like all the other things you don’t want to see? Or send me away to a school so I can at least get out of the house sometimes?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There are no appropriate schools for you in the town and even if they were, a young lady of your status needs to be educated at home,” Castiel protested.

Claire had scoffed despite Castiel reprimanding her many times about what an impolite habit that was, but the conversation did give him an idea and he was just desperate enough to try it.

He really hadn’t expected an answer when he wrote to some of the most prominent dame schools across the Atlantic, but Miss Masters had sent him back a letter stating she was more than interested in taking the position.

So that was where they were now and as the winter approached them, Castiel found himself very satisfied with the results. He wasn’t quite certain what it was, but Miss Masters had succeeded where the other governesses have failed, regarding Claire’s obedience and respect, at the very least.

She was still a rowdy child who ran out of the door into the fields and forgot her bonnet sometimes when they left for church, but at the very least she showed up at the appropriate time for meals and didn’t forget to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ anymore. It was a marked improvement.

“Do you know anything about gardening, Mr. Novak?” Miss Masters asked when he pointed out the shortcomings he still noticed on Claire’s behavior.

“I… I can’t say that I do, no,” he confessed, frowning at the random question. “Mrs. Harvelle and the Winchester boys are the ones who take care of that…”

“Well, then, you can ask them how difficult it’s to grow and maintain a well-cared garden,” Miss Masters said. “You have to constantly be on guard for weeds and pests, but you can’t be so zealous that you end up poisoning your own roses trying to get rid of them. My father has a beautiful rose garden that he personally cares for and he always said that trained him to raise me and my brother after our mother passed away. It taught him patience and tenderness. It taught that some flowers are just stubborn and can’t grow the way one expects them too, but that doesn’t mean one can’t harmonize them with the rest of the garden.”

Castiel wasn’t very well-versed in poetry, but even he could understand what she was trying to tell him.

“You’re saying that educating Claire is like cultivating a garden.”

“Indeed, it is. I think I have weeded out the worst of her behavior, but other things that you might think as weeds… well, they might just be flowers that surprise us all. We will have to see.”

And she smiled at him.

She had a beautiful smile.

Castiel felt a slight discomfort on his chest. His heart fluttered rapidly and his breath suddenly wasn’t reaching inside of his lungs. He leaned back down on his chair, hoping that Miss Masters wouldn’t notice it. But he must paled, because she tilted her head at him.

“Are you alright, Mr. Novak?”

“Yes.” Castiel resisted the urge to rub at his chest. He didn’t want her telling anything about this to Claire. “I just… I am a bit tired, I think.”

At his words, Jo moved to pick up the empty cups and pastries leftovers of the tea they’d enjoyed together. She placed them on her platter as Miss Masters watched him closely.

“You’ve been working very hard,” she commented. “I think this is the first time in days I see you come out of your studio before dinner!”

“Well, the estate…”

“I’m sure it will not fall apart because you rest one day.”

She stretched her hand to touch his forearm and the discomfort returned. His mouth went dry as well, so he didn’t know what to say, how to thank her for her concerns. Just when he thought he’d recovered control of his tongue, Miss Masters looked around and seemed startled. She stood up and smoothed over an invisible crease in her dress and Castiel understood why.

Jo had left them alone.

“If you apologize, I must prepare Claire’s lessons for tomorrow,” she said. “I will see you at supper.”

“Very well. Thank you,” Castiel mumbled clumsily, but she had already left the room.

It was the first time it happened, but not the last. When he was in his business room, he would feel fine, losing himself in numbers and letters that needed to be answer. But sometimes, when he was out, he would feel the same discomfort, his pulse accelerating, his breathing agitated. It would almost always happen when he was in the presence of Miss Masters and Claire, which made it all the most concerning.

Claire was still very young. Who would take care of her if anything were to happen to him? Yes, he had some cousins and nephews who would inherit the estate, but who would take her in?

It was those questions weighing heavy on his mind that prompted him to call Dr. Balthazar Elliot to the house. He was a personal friend of his, besides being his personal physician, and of course, he came as soon as he received his note.

“What is it, dear friend?” Balthazar asked, sitting down next to him in Castiel’s private room. He was a tall man with greying hair and handsome features. He was prone to joking and smiling in more sociable settings, but when he was at the bedside of a patient, he always maintained his serious tone and expression. “Is the old leg giving you trouble?”

“My leg always gives me trouble,” Castiel said. He didn’t mean to be brooding or bleak about it. The slight pain and inconveniences he lived with as a consequence of his leg were just routine to him at this point. “No, this is something different.”

Balthazar listened to him attentively. He counted his pulse on his wrist and asked a series of questions: if he’d experienced pain or numbness in any other part of his body, dizzy spells or strange swellings. Castiel shook his head at this, and Balthazar’s confusion did nothing to assuage his fears.

“Well, I’m not sure what it might be,” he confessed in the end. “You don’t have any other symptoms that might indicate a chronic condition and there’s no history in your family of anyone suffering from a weak heart. You eat healthily, thanks to Mrs. Harvelle. I daresay, you might need to spend less time indoors behind your desk, but…”

“I have been walking more now, while the weather is still mild,” Castiel confessed. “I try to join Claire and Miss Masters…”

“Miss Masters?” Balthazar repeated.

“Claire’s new governess. The three of us take a walk around the grounds at least once or twice a week.”

“And this when your… palpitations start?”

“Generally, yes. Sometimes I experience them when I’m entering a room or I’m just sitting having supper or tea. It’s most worrying.”

“I see,” Balthazar said, raising his eyebrows. “Is Miss Masters present at tea time and supper often?”

“Yes, I enjoy her conversation a lot, so I sometimes invite her to have tea with me if Claire is finished with her lessons,” Castiel admitted. “She joins us for supper every single night.”

“Claire likes her, then?”

“She’s entirely bewitched by her and a good thing too,” Castiel stated. “You know finding her a suitable governess has been a source of headaches for me this past year.”

“Yes, I see that,” Balthazar nodded. He caressed his chin for a moment, pensively. “Is it possible for me to join you for dinner this evening? I would like to observe if your palpitations start while I’m present. And, of course, I wouldn’t protest to meeting this bewitching Miss Masters…”

Castiel wasn’t sure why his first impulse was to refuse him. Balthazar was a good friend of his, someone he trusted wholeheartedly, and of course, his company for dinner was always appreciated and welcome. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of him and Miss Masters getting along, though. They both took whatever chance they had to tease him and he wasn’t sure them teaming up would be enjoyable for him.

Of course, those were all very weak excuses, so he ended up agreeing.

“You remember Dr. Elliot, don’t you, Claire?”

Claire looked at him with a slight surprise on her face, but she still lowered her head and greeted him most courteously:

“It’s a pleasure seeing you again.”

“The same to you, my dear girl. My, but have you got tall these past few months!”

“And this is Miss Marjorie Masters,” Castiel introduced her.

Miss Masters also bowed to Balthazar and offered him her hand.

“Very nice to meet you,” she said as he kissed her knuckles quickly. She wasn’t very effusive and Castiel noticed how her eyes shifted from Balthazar to him, as if she was tempted to ask why he’d called his physician.

She didn’t, of course, as that would have been most indiscreet. She knew when to rein in your curiosity, unlike Claire, who ask as soon as they sat:

“Is there anything wrong with my uncle’s health, Dr. Elliot?”

“Claire…” Castiel began, but Balthazar put a hand up to interrupt him.

“No, don’t worry. Of course she would feel inclined to ask about this,” he said. “It’s only natural. It’s just the old bad leg giving him a bit of grief, so I hope you’re behaving and not adding up to your uncle’s worries.”

“Still, you shouldn’t be asking a question like that,” Miss Masters chastised her.

“I’m sorry,” Claire replied and for once, she truly did seem contrite. “What should I have said instead?”

“You should have said: ‘can I ask why is Dr. Elliot coming to see you?’ and even that is dithering on rude,” Miss Masters pointed out. “If you had any concerns, you should have asked your uncle in private later on.”

“Oh, don’t punish the girl on my account,” Balthazar said. “I think it’s sweet that she worries about Castiel. And of course, he would never confide in her if there was something wrong with his health.”

“I would not…” Castiel started protesting, but he already knew it would be in vain.

“My dear friend, as you might have noticed, is reserved to an extreme degree,” Balthazar declared. “I daresay he must be feeling overwhelmed just by having the two of you at home all the time.”

“I don’t…” Castiel said, but the smirk in Miss Masters’ lips revealed that, despite his best efforts, she had noticed how uncomfortable he was sometimes.

“We try to give him plenty of space,” she said. “Even that doesn’t seem to be enough on occasion.”

Castiel wished he could have told her it had nothing to do with her. He was had only just adjusted to being Claire’s tutor and considering her for all his future plans, and then she had arrived with her… spirited nature and her informal way of conducting herself that sometimes bordered on recklessness. That he didn’t know what to make of her, because despite their conversations, he had the impression she didn’t like him very much for some reason that he couldn’t begin to suspect.

Of course, that wasn’t the time or place to discuss such matters. Luckily for him, the maids arrive then with the food and the topic of conversation moved away from him.

“So what part of the colonies are you from, Miss Masters?”

“They haven’t been colonies since before I was born,” Miss Masters pointed out. She seemed amused by the way he referred to her country. “But if you must know, I’m from New Hampshire.”

“Forgive me, my geography is a little rusty. Is that South or North?”

“Further North, so acclimation has been going smoothly.”

“I would hope so. We’ve had a most wonderful summer and mild autumn, but I do hope that it doesn’t get too bad this winter.”

“I don’t know about that. I wouldn’t mind seeing some snow. I bet the grounds look beautiful all covered in white.”

“Aren’t you a romantic, Miss Masters?”

“I try to curb that behavior whenever it rears its ugly head. Mr. Novak here thinks we should be the masters of all our emotions.”

Balthazar burst into laughter and Castiel sunk on his chair. This had been exactly what he feared when Balthazar asked to be introduced to her. He should be glad that these two people in his life had such a good connection between them, but for some reason, he found himself slipping into a rather morose state.

He tried to hide it and participated very little during the conversation, despite how much Balthazar or Miss Masters tried to include him, sometimes with a well-meaning joke. He didn’t have any more palpitations, as Balthazar had called them, but he couldn’t say he felt great by the time dinner was over.

“It has been a most wonderful surprise to meet you, Miss Masters. I’ve enjoyed this short encounter immensely,” Balthazar said, as they said their goodbyes on the door.

“I can say the same. I hope you will visit us again soon.”

“I will try my best. Thank you, Jo, darling,” Balthazar said as the maid handed him his coat and his hat. “Castiel, would you be so kind to walk with me to my carriage?”

Castiel had the impression Balthazar wanted to have one last word with him in private, so despite his leg aching slightly, he complied.

“Well, that was most interesting,” Balthazar commented as they headed outside in the chilly night. “Despite her protests, I think she is a bit of a romantic. Remarkable woman.”

“Yes. She is rather extraordinary,” Castiel admitted. He was still wary of Balthazar’s praise over her. Would he be showing up at the manor often now? Would he start courting her? He was still reminded of Miss Campbell and how she had decided to leave in order to start a family. Which Meg would be in her right to do, but she was so far away from home, how would she get her father’s approval…?

Balthazar stopped suddenly and looked at him, interrupting Castiel’s thoughts.

“So extraordinary, in fact, I think Claire isn’t the only one who has been bewitched by her.”

“I… I don’t understand.” Castiel frowned.

“We’ve known each other for many years, and I know you have never been the kind to be seduced by a pretty pair of eyes and twirl of a skirt,” Balthazar continued. “On the contrary, I have seen many women try to get your attention only to be crush by the wall of your indifference. It is amazing, then, that Miss Masters could get past it without any effort on her part.”

“Balthazar, I don’t think…” Castiel began saying, but the smirk in his friend’s lips drowned out all of his protests.

“Your physical symptoms aren’t anything to be worried about and frankly, my dear, you’re too smart to be acting this foolishly,” Balthazar concluded as he put on his gloves. “Both my professional and my personal advice is to let this woman know how you feel and ask her to marry you like a true gentleman would. Good night.”

He stalked towards his carriage and climbed inside before Castiel had time to recover from the commotion of his words. He was tempted to call him back, but the horses were already clacking away towards the gates, leaving him standing alone on his own front yard. He wasn’t used to losing a hold of his thoughts like this, but his mind was raging.

Balthazar couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be. He’d said it himself; Castiel wasn’t one to be swayed by sentimentality. It was the reason he had remained a bachelor even when marrying a good woman to run his house was the expected and even reasonable thing to do. He understood, of course, that love could be built day by day with whoever he chose to share his life with, regardless of how he felt at the beginning, but he had simply never been interested in such things. His life was comfortable the way it was. He didn’t need or want a wife.

He turned and limped back inside of his house. The pain in his leg became sharper than usual, so he had to sit down on the chair he kept in the lobby for such purposes to let it rest. For the first time in his life, he was thankful for that pain, because it gave him something to concentrate on that wasn’t Balthazar’s words and how much they’d affected him…

“Good night, Mr. Novak.”

He startled and looked up. Miss Masters stood before him, with a book under her arm and a candlestick in her hand. The golden light bathed her face softly, making it look like her eyes were darker than usual.

“Good night,” he repeated, still disconcerted.

“Are you going up to your rooms? It’s late.”

“Yes.” Castiel took a deep breath and lowered his eyes to his lap. For some reason, it was easier to speak to her when he wasn’t looking at her in the eye. “Just as soon as my leg feels a bit better.”

He thought Miss Masters would for sure say her goodnight to him again, but to his surprise, she placed the candlestick down and sat on the first step of the stairs, close to him.

“If you forgive me, I think your life would be exponentially easier if you moved your bedroom to one of the rooms downstairs,” she commented.

“I’ve thought about it many times,” Castiel accepted. “I’ve never come around making the change, but perhaps I should consider it.”

“It would be more comfortable than sleeping in your studio.”

How did she find out he did that sometimes, when the pain was simply too bad or he was too tired, that he just took a nap on his armchair? He didn’t think anyone but Mrs. Harvelle knew about it.

She smiled at him and this time, when the palpitations returned, he realized that Balthazar had been right. It was her that was causing all those sensations. Her presence, her beauty, her words. It all just left him breathless and dazed.

Was this… was this really what poets meant when they talked about love?

“Are you feeling better now?” she asked after a few seconds of comfortable silent. She stood up and offered him her arm for him to lean into. Castiel accepted it without another word. He wasn’t sure what he could have said anyway.

She helped him upstairs without a word, which was good. Castiel didn’t think he could have said anything coherent when he was so focused on the warmth of her skin that he could sense even through the sleeve of her dress.

“Dr. Elliot was a very pleasant guest,” she commented once they were atop of the stairs.

“What? Oh. Yes,” Castiel mumbled, embarrassed, because for one moment, he had been distracted by the way her profile look in the candlelight. “He is… a good conversationalist.”

“You are too, Mr. Novak, but you were very sparse on words during supper,” she pointed out. “Is there something troubling you? Something I might be able to help with?”

Castiel wasn’t used to people offering him help. Ever since his parents had passed, he had run the house without any help, without any expectation that he should have someone to lean on. He knew his servants only helped him because he provided for them and maybe there was bit of that to Miss Maters’ offer too, but it was different. She was there to educate and guide Claire. She didn’t need to be so kind and attentive towards him.

He realized they were standing still now, in front of one another, and the space between them was significantly small. The candlelight threw strange shadows on the wall and Miss Masters’ lips were…

He caught himself and looked up at her eyes again. After all, he had no business looking at her lips.

“Thank you for your concern,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as weak as he felt it. “You have helped me enormously already.”

Miss Masters didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t insist. She bowed her head and reached for the handle.

“Very well. Goodnight, Mr. Novak.”

She was gone before he could even get the words out to answer her. He stared at the closed door in front of him, closing his eyes. There was still a whiff of her perfume in the air, something floral and strange.

When he finally managed to pull himself together and limp back to his room, he spent a very long time sitting on his bed, staring at the darkness in front of him. The house felt different, but it wasn’t because of Miss Masters’ presence. It was different, because he didn’t feel like himself when he was around her.

Balthazar was right. He was a fool for not realizing it sooner.


	4. Chapter 4

The tension around the state seemed to grow quite a bit during the following days. Through no fault of her own, Meg found herself arguing with Mr. Novak on several occasions during breakfast or supper. She tried not to let it get to her, she really did. But with every passing day, Meg found new things that irritated her about her employer.

First and foremost, what he thought ought to be the “proper” behavior for a lady.

"I don't think that's appropriate."

"Why not?" Meg asked, crooking an eyebrow at him. "I need to do some shopping and I don't want to make Mr. Singer take out the carriage for such a short ride. I am perfectly capable of riding a horse."

"I'm not saying you aren't. I'm merely stating it would be best if you went with Mrs. Harvelle or with Jo..."

"The things I need are rather of a personal nature," Meg cut him off. "I would rather do this by myself."

It wasn't actually all that important. She just needed more ink and paper and see if there was somewhere she could get some new books, since going into Mr. Novak's library wasn't an option. After their discussion about Claire's books, he had taken to locking it up. Meg was certain she could get into Mrs. Harvelle good favor to get a copy of the key, but she wasn't quite there yet.

And in any case, she would have agreed to go accompanied if it Mr. Novak hadn't been so annoyingly stubborn about it. It only increased Meg's resolution that she should have her own horse and come and go as she pleased when Claire's lessons were done and she wasn't needed in the house.

Mr. Novak put down his glass and glared at her. Meg could tell when she was angering him, because his eyes would get brighter and he would clench his jaw in a certain way when she managed to get to him. She sometimes wondered if he would dismiss her from his service if she kept pressing on after a certain point or if he was too much of a gentleman to leave a young woman, who was far from home, unemployed and essentially homeless just because she irritated him.

"A lady shouldn't go anywhere without a chaperone," he insisted. "The people of the town will gossip."

"People always gossip, Mr. Novak. It’s inevitable as the rain. The best one can do is ignore them."

"I wouldn't want your honor to be called into question."

"Forgive me, but the only one who's questioning my honor is you," Meg pointed out, involuntarily raising her voice.

"I am not!" he replied in the same tone. "I'm simply worried you conduct yourself far too liberally to set a proper example."

It was only then that Meg remembered that Claire was having supper along with them. It was easy to forget, because usually during their arguments, Claire simply ate in silence while watching them, rarely interjecting a word or making a sound. Meg was willing to bet that she was somewhat entertained by their fights and didn't want to interrupt them.

She should really stop. She should really have this conversation in private, where Claire wouldn't see them going at each other's throat and trying so clearly to undermine the other's judgment. But she was still furious and she wasn't about to let this maddeningly persistent man have the last word.

"And perhaps you shouldn't judge a woman's propriety just by the way she conducts herself."

"You're absolutely right. Perhaps I should judge them for their willingness to respect social norms," he retorted.

"Social norms are important, but they're not always the end all be all of every interaction, Mr. Novak. And you better than anyone should know that one can't adhere to them all the time. It's a ridiculous notion. Do you never relax around your friends? Or are you always so formal that you're incapable of forming genuine friendship?"

"I believe a friendship can be genuine and still respect the confines of social norms..."

"Ah, so you admit they're confining!"

She had to bite back a smile at the way he squinted his eyes at her.

"Regardless," he groaned after a moment, "I won't lend you a horse if it's going to lead you to behave so outrageously."

Meg felt her cheeks burning, all the enjoyment she could have taken from the conversation suddenly sucked out by the arrogance of that statement.

"Fine," she snapped. "I will walk."

A snickered that promptly became a cough came from Claire's end of the table. She pressed a napkin to her mouth as if with that she could hide that she was laughing at the adults.

"Excuse me," she said, putting the napkin down and keeping her gaze low, even though that did nothing to conceal the little smirk in her face. "I'm finished. May I go up to my room, please?"

"Yes, you may," Mr. Novak sighed. "Goodnight, Claire."

"Goodnight, uncle. Miss Masters."

She was out of the dining room like a breeze. And afterwards, there really seemed to be nothing left for Meg and Mr. Novak to discuss, so they finished in awkward silence and muttered their goodnights not long after.

But Meg wasn't about to just forget about it. Mr. Novak wasn't her father, so he had no right to tell her how she should behave or limit her in any way. Not even her father had done that, if she was being honest. In his house, Mr. Novak was the master, he set the rules and she could respect that. But she wasn't about to bow down to him and just accept she could only come and go under his conditions.

The following day, she woke up even earlier than usual, put on her most comfortable shoes and thicker clothes to weather the November chill and left Heavenly Manor with only a glass of milk and a slice of bread she snatched from the kitchen for breakfast.

The walk to the town was long and she'd had to stop on the way and ask for directions in a couple of occasions. The people on the road (mostly farm workers going to their early work) looked at her funny, obviously confused by the fact that she was walking alone, or perhaps it was her accent.

In any case, Meg had covered a pretty considerable distance when Sam caught up with her.

"Miss Masters!" he called out as he stopped the horse by her side. "Miss Masters, wait, please!"

Meg stopped, took a deep sigh and turned to him with what she hoped was her widest smile.

"Good morning, Sam."

"Good morning," he replied, even though his smile was a little forced. Meg deduced he wasn't very fond of the situation they were in. "Mr. Novak sent me."

"Did he now?" Meg replied, still smiling politely. "Well, he shouldn't have bothered. Tell him I appreciate it, but I intend to go to the town for my shopping with or without his approval."

"He figured you might say something like that," Sam replied. "So I'm to come along with you and assist you in any way you may need."

Meg almost wanted to laugh. If what Mr. Novak was worried about was her honor, he should have sent Jo or Mrs. Harvelle or even Mr. Singer. Anyone but the six feet tall stable boy with the charming smile. That was certain to give the townsfolk something to gossip about.

If Sam even made it to the town with her, that was.

“Oh, very well,” Meg said with a huff so exaggerated she couldn’t understand how Sam didn’t realize instantly it was fake. “If that is the only way that impossible man will let me be…”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, as if he also thought Mr. Novak was impossible. Meg climbed unto the horse with Sam’s help, but dropped her gloves as she settled on the saddle.

“Be a darling and get that for me, please,” she said.

Sam turned his back on her and bent over to pick them up.

Later Meg would feel a little bad for having roped him into her and Mr. Novak’s fight. But thinking it carefully, it really had been Mr. Novak’s fault for sending him after her as if Meg was a mischievous child and not a grown woman capable of her own decisions.

Sam’s scream came when Meg had already set the horse into a hurried gallop, leaving a dust of cloud in its wake.

“Miss Masters! Wait, Miss Masters!”

Meg didn’t even bother to look over her shoulder. She did let out a cackle when she thought the boy couldn’t hear her anymore, enjoying the cold wind in her face and the feeling of freedom of the road opening up in front of her.

She had a wonderful day in the town. She found some very interesting books of poetry and travelling and ate an abundant lunch in the town’s tavern. Many people did turn to look at her, maybe wondering who this unaccompanied and gloveless young woman was, but they didn’t approach to bother her. She was very happy with the results of her excursion, but she couldn’t claim it was a victory until she went back to Heavenly Manor and discovered if she still had a job at all.

Mr. Novak was waiting for her right at the entry, sitting on the armchair with his bad leg outstretched and set on top of a stool. Meg wondered how long had he been standing there.

“Good afternoon,” she said, with a smile, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened that day.

“Good afternoon, Miss Masters,” he replied, rather coldly. “I hope you will excuse me for not getting up to greet you.”

“You’re excused,” Meg said, with a shrug. “I hope I didn’t get Sam in a lot of trouble.”

Mr. Novak sighed, as if he was expecting to avoid the elephant in the room for just a little longer.

“No, Sam isn’t trouble.”

“Am I in trouble then?”

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes squinted as if he was trying to determine whether she was mocking him or not. Meg tried to adopt her more serious expression and waited. In the end, Mr. Novak reached out for his cane and stood up slowly.

“No, you aren’t in trouble either,” he clarified, limping towards her. “I actually want to apologize to you.”

Meg blinked at him. “That’s… rather unexpected.”

“I should have believed you when you said you were going to walk,” he explained. “And provided you with a horse instead of obstinate myself in the certainty you wouldn’t dare. I should know by now that the more one tries to control a person, the more that person will persist on doing things by themselves.”

“That’s a very noble sentiment, but I still don’t understand,” Meg said, frowning. “Why do you care to try to control me at all?”

Mr. Novak avoided her gaze, as if he was embarrassed somehow, and that was even stranger, since his answer to that question was perfectly reasonable:

“Well, I’m… Claire admires you. Quite a bit. That’s easy to see. I wouldn’t want you to provide a bad example for her.”

“Yes, of course,” Meg said, nodding. “Trust me, I’m very aware of my responsibilities towards your niece. I just didn’t think going to the town to do some shopping could be considered a bad example.”

“I guess you and I just have different ideas of what’s appropriate or not,” Mr. Novak admitted.

“And that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it?” Meg smirked. After a few seconds of silence, she was rewarded with a tentative smile in response. “Perhaps we should try to agree on these things beforehand.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said.

He leaned a little more in his cane, as if he needed to shift the weight of his body from his other leg. Meg didn’t want him to overexert himself, so she offered him her arm. Mr. Novak looked at her for a moment, as if that wasn’t entirely “appropriate” either, but in the end, he placed his hand on her forearm and let her walk him towards his business room. They met with Jo on the way and Meg requested for her to bring them some tea. The girl looked at them with surprise and shot a questioning glance at her employer.

“Some pastries would be nice as well. Thank you, Jo,” he said. “And please, ask Claire if she’d like to join us.”

It was actually quite pleasant, to be sitting in front of the small table, sipping their tea and trying to find some sort of common ground.

“I have always been able to go wherever I pleased,” Meg explained to him. “Growing up in a farm, I learned to ride before I learned to walk.”

“Me too, I used to be a good rider,” Mr. Novak replied. “I fell off the horse, several years back, and I broke my leg. It didn’t heal well.”

Meg tilted her head at him.

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Mr. Novak said, frowning. “It took me a while to learn to walk again and it hurts a bit when the weather turns cold, but for the most part…”

“No, I didn’t mean your accident. I meant that it was simply an accident.”

Mr. Novak opened his mouth and closed it again, clearly confused at what she meant.

“That’s too boring a story,” Meg explained. “For it to be interesting, it would’ve had to be some sort of unexpected tragedy or have some grand significance in your life. If you tell it like that, it makes it a lot less mysterious.”

“Well, I am not a mysterious person,” Mr. Novak said, frowning.

“Yes, this is obvious,” Meg said and smirked at him again. He was just too easy to tease, and it was almost funny the way he twisted his mouth in annoyance whenever she did.

“Life isn’t like a play or like a story, Miss Masters. Sometimes things happen for no reason at all and there’s no story to be told behind it.”

“And you wonder why I favor fiction. Everything that happens in a story means more because it’s not just out of senseless bad luck and confusion. Whether it ends badly or happily, it’s possible to trace back the choices that lead to that,” Meg pointed out. “It’s… comforting, in a way.”

Mr. Novak tapped his finger on the armrest, pensively.

“I guess I never thought about it that way.”

There was a shy knock on the door, as if the person on the other side wasn’t sure she was wanted there.

“Come on in!”

Claire popped her head inside and looked at them, taking in the scene with a wary frown that her made look more than ever like her uncle.

“Uh… you called me?” she said, tentatively.

“Yes, come here, Claire,” Mr. Novak said, pointing at the third chair that was empty.

Meg hastily took the teapot and poured a cup for Claire as well. The girl sat down, still looking at them like she didn’t know the fact they were talking alone together was something good for her.

“We were wondering, do you know how to ride?” Meg asked.

“I grew up in the city,” Claire replied. When that didn’t seem to be explanation enough, she straightened her shoulders and clarified: “No, I never learned. Papa used to say we would go to the country one day and he would teach me, but… we never got around it.”

Her voice became increasingly lower until it was but a sad whisper. It was clear this was a painful thing for her and Meg threw a warning glance at Mr. Novak. He too had realized it and seemed to be wondering if it was a good idea to continue, but in the end, he took a deep breath and asked:

“Would you like to learn?”

Claire slowly raised her eyes at him.

“Really? I thought you were against ladies riding to places.”

Meg suffocated a snicker and looked away when Mr. Novak glared at her.

“I’m not against… it might be a useful skill for you to have,” he said, giving up on justifying himself right away. “It would give you more independence, you could go around the state with more ease. You could accompany Miss Masters next time she needs to go to the town.”

“Really?” Claire repeated, as if she wasn’t sure such generous offering wasn’t a jest at her expense.

“Yes,” Mr. Novak affirmed. “Would you like that?”

Claire glanced at Meg, as if she wasn’t sure what to answer to that. Meg gave her an encouraging nod to tell her uncle what she thought.

“I would love that,” Claire affirmed, her smile blooming in her lips until it lit up her entire face.

Mr. Novak also smiled, and it looked like the first time in a very long time he did. Meg was surprised to find he looked even more handsome when he did. People who were often serious looked strange when they were forced to smile, but Mr. Novak’s face just looked all the more radiant and kind, with little crinkles forming around his eyes.

It made her think he used to smile a lot more when he was younger and had lost that use overtime. It was a sad thought and she had no place to be having, so she shook her head and turned to her pupil.

“Why don’t you read for us, Claire? I’m sure your uncle would love to hear how your voice has improved.”

“Oh… alright,” Claire said, as if she was a little taken aback.

Meg leaned over and took out one of the new books she had brought at the town. It was a battered copy with the name of a female author she didn’t recognize. It was impossible to know the story of that book or how it had ended up in the corner of the store with the five or six others secondhand books, all equally worn out. But she would like to know it and if she didn’t know it, she would make up something later on. As she had told Castiel, life was much more interesting with a story at hand.

Claire grabbed the book and opened it on a page at random. She cleared her throat and stood up so it would be clearer:

_Love steals unheeded o'er the tranquil mind,_

_As Summer breezes fan the sleeping main,_

_Slow through each fiber creeps the subtle pain,_

_'Till closely round the yielding bosom twined…_

Meg caught Mr. Novak staring at her again, and when she smiled at him to be polite, he quickly looked away.

* * *

Mr. Novak and Meg reached a new understanding of each other as winter drew closer, but that didn’t mean they didn’t find new reasons to argue about at dinner. It was always easy to irritate him with a stern defense of Shakespeare and Meg wasted no time in making it over and over, suggesting that he had no understanding of the plays and what was worse, that he didn’t care to understand them either. Mr. Novak, on his part, defended himself with _ad hominen_ attacks on Meg, arguing how her “passionate nature” was going to get her in trouble one day.

“Well, I rather have a passionate nature than grow cold and unfeeling,” Meg answered. “All too often people are forced to do things against their passion just because it’s the logical and proper thing to do and many times they find themselves unhappy afterwards.”

“And so it happens when they do things following the dictates of their hearts,” Mr. Novak argued. “A balance of both is necessary, I believe, and they don’t always go against each other as you seem to think.”

It was strange, for how much he enraged her, how she found herself amused by their banter. Perhaps that played no small part on why she opposed him all the time. She also found it hard to believe he didn’t enjoy it. Mr. Novak was an intelligent gentleman and saved for his travels to the city, it didn’t seem like he led a particularly social life. Meg could by no means claim to be his equal, but at the very least she could provide him with some stimulant discussion and in their frequent chats, they formed a sort of tender friendship.

In addition to breakfast and dinner, Meg had tea with him in his business room on the afternoons (sometimes they were joined by Claire, sometimes she chose to paint or read by herself) and informed him of the progresses Claire made with her education. On his side, he informed her of the arrangements he was making to find a palfrey, which he thought was a more appropriate ride for her.

“She shall start her riding lessons in the fall, after we come back from London,” he informed her. “She will be coming into the season quite late, I am afraid, but I can’t stand the thought of travelling while the weather is still so cold. Regardless, I think she will find it rather pleasant over there.”

“It’ll be a good thing, especially if she meets people her age,” Meg agreed. “She needs to sharpen her letter-writing skills.”

Mr. Novak nodded and rubbed his leg distractedly. Meg had noticed he did that more and more as the days became colder. He also dragged his chair so close to the chimney that his face tuned pink. Meg had tried asking him if he was in pain one time and the answer she received was rather curt, so she had learned not to ask it again.

“Of course, you must come too,” he added. “I’m sure you are bored of the quiet life we lead here.”

“I find ways to keep myself entertained.” Meg shrugged. She didn’t mention that the short story she had been working on was rapidly turning into a lengthy work and she was proud of how easily the words flow to her when she put pen to paper. She stretched her hand and placed it briefly on his forearm. “And I do very much enjoy your company, Mr. Novak.”

Mr. Novak blinked at her and opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, licking his lips as if Meg had just made him very nervous for some reason. Meg pretended not to notice as she removed her hand. She wondered if such displays weren’t greatly appreciated in England or if it was just Mr. Novak that was uncomfortable with them.

“I… enjoy your company as well,” he said, after clearing his throat. He was staring at her again, his eyes piercing like icy blue daggers on her face. “Miss Masters, I… uh… yes.”

He finished his stammering and look away. It was hard to tell if his face was red due to the chimney’s heat or if he was genuinely embarrassed he didn’t have a way to properly finish that sentence. She let it slide, as if that was going to be the last moment of civility they’d share before she started a prickly topic.

“Will we go to the theater while we’re in London?” she asked, crooking an eyebrow.

“If… you and Claire would like that, I don’t see why not,” he replied. He squinted his eyes, as if he suspected what was to come next. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Meg said, with a smile that indicated exactly the opposite. “I’m just thinking perhaps seeing a play come to life will make you gain appreciation for Shakespeare’s works.”

Mr. Novak sighed deeply, as if he was disappointed with himself for how easily he’d fallen into that particular rhetoric trap.

“You already know my opinion about that particular topic, Miss Masters.”

“I had to make the attempt,” Meg said. “Why are you so opposed to Claire having those books? She has already read them, memorized entire passages of them, in fact. You wouldn’t be exposing her to anything new.”

Mr. Novak said nothing for the longest time, merely watching at the fire crackling in the chimney. Meg was trying to come up with another argument when he set his eyes on her again.

“She’s still so young. My brother was barely older than her when he left. I loved Jimmy, more than anyone in the world, and that’s why I don’t want Claire to follow in on his footsteps. It was bad for him, but for her it would be devastating. You may argue that it’s unfair for women to bear the burden of a more fragile reputation and you might be right. But that is the world that we live in and we can’t ignore that there are cruel people who would take advantage of her if she’s not careful.”

“I can’t really argue against that,” Meg admitted. “But I can tell you with certainty that you won’t always be here to protect her. You have to learn to trust her, Mr. Novak. Trust that she will grow smart and strong and make the right choices for herself.”

Mr. Novak said nothing. His grave expression seemed somehow even more serious than usual. The silence grew longer and awkward and Meg was about to change the topic when there was a rap on the door.

Mrs. Harvelle walked in, straightening her apron and looking a little agitated.

“Excuse me, Mr. Novak. Some… visitors have come.”

“Visitors?” Mr. Novak asked, frowning.

“Mrs. Johnson and her daughter. They arrived a few minutes ago and they’re waiting for you.”

Mr. Novak’s eyes opened wide in surprise and his eyebrows shot up his eyes, completely taken aback by those news.

“They weren’t supposed to be here for another day,” he explained, standing up with incredible agility. “I’ll be right there. Make more tea, please, Mrs. Harvelle. Miss Masters, do you mind calling Claire to come down?”

“Not at all.”

Meg saw the baggage in the entryway and couldn’t help but to wonder what kind of person Mrs. Johnson was. Mr. Novak rarely talked about her cousin, except to mention she was visiting soon. He seemed enthusiastic about it, though, the happiest she had ever seen him. Which only confirmed her assessment that Mr. Novak was a man in dire need of new friendships.

Claire was in her room, painting by the window. She hunched over the canvass in a very unladylike manner and bit on the brush’s tip with concentration.

“Miss Masters, come here,” she requested, even before Meg had said a word. “Tell me what you think of these colors.”

Meg approached her and took a look. It was amazing how much Claire had improved in only a couple of months of painting. Meg was a pretty poor painter, mostly doing flowers and landscapes, but Claire had taken up an interest in it and she was gaining new abilities rapidly. Now she was working on a winter landscape as seen from her room and she was clearly trying to capture the light on her the window’s frame.

“You’re doing a most excellent job, Claire,” she congratulated her. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to leave it for now.”

“It’s too early for dinner,” Claire protested.

Meg explained to her what had just happened and had to contain a chuckle when Claire looked so mortified by the news.

“Isn’t there any way to avoid it?” she complained. “Can’t you tell them I’m indisposed? I’ll go down later.”

“Claire, please.” Meg crooked an eyebrow at her, and Claire gave up.

Mrs. Harvelle indicated that Mr. Novak and the visits were in the blue room, the furthest room on the east wing of the first floor. Meg liked that room: it was spacious, it had a pianoforte on the corner and a balcony that overlooked the hills, and the walls were painted in a calming light blue. She wondered if the place wasn’t too cold for the season to have tea there, but the reason they had chosen it became clear when they walked inside.

There was a dark-haired girl, no more than a couple years older than Claire, interpreting a very complicated piece in the pianoforte, her eyes closed in concentration as her fingers slid on the keys with ease and grace. The music that invaded the room was fast and lively, the kind of music one could see themselves dancing to. Meg hadn’t heard music in so long that she almost stopped at the door, willing for the girl to finish the piece. But the movement of them at the door was enough to alert her of their presence. She stopped playing and stood up.

“Oh, good afternoon,” she said, with a wide smile.

“Good afternoon,” Meg replied.

“Hello,” Claire said, tilting her head a little, as if disconcerted by the girl.

Mr. Novak stood immediately and gallantly offered his arm to the other woman in the room.

“Miss Masters, Claire, this is Mrs. Johnson…”

“Oh, please, call me Hannah,” she said extending her hand to shake Meg’s with a smile right before turning towards Claire. “And you, dear, may call me Aunt Hannah.”

“Oh, may I?” Claire asked. Hannah was either too polite or too oblivious to make note of the sarcasm in her voice.

“And this is my daughter, Hael,” Hannah added, beckoning at the girl who had been playing the piano.

“So very nice to meet you!” Hael said, and her smile was genuine and welcoming. “I really hope we can be friends!”

Claire smiled back, even if she didn’t make any promises about becoming friends with Hael.

“Please, sit down,” Mr. Novak said. “You haven’t had any tea, Claire.”

Claire opened her mouth as if she was about to refuse, but one warning look from Meg was enough to shut her up.

The family resemblance was pretty clear once they were all sat. Both Hannah and Hael had the same sparkling blue eyes as Claire and Mr. Novak, and they were both brunettes. They also seemed a lot more friendly and chatty that Mr. Novak ever had been when he had just met Meg: they wanted to know about her, about America, and about Claire.

“We would’ve come to meet you sooner, but we were rather busy,” Hannah explained. “Mr. Johnson travels a lot and he insists on taking us with him everywhere. This year, I’m afraid he and my younger son Samandriel have been caught with some business in Spain and he won’t be back until after New Year.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Meg couldn’t help herself from intervening. “Do you mind if I ask what he works as?”

“Banking, mostly. Numbers. I really don’t understand it,” Hannah replied, with a dismissive gesture of her hands. “But don’t I wish we could stay in one place, at least some of the time! It would certainly make Hael’s piano lessons easier.”

“Do you play the piano, Claire?” Hael asked, kindly.

“No,” Claire said. She took a sip of her tea as if that was the end of her answer, but realized everyone in the room was staring at her, waiting for her to continue. “I mean, I never… I never had the chance to learn. Miss Masters is teaching me to paint, though.”

“Really? I would love to see your work,” Hael said, with apparent endless enthusiasm despite her cousin’s clear coldness. “Would you show it to me when we go upstairs?”

“Oh. Uh…” Claire mumbled. “I… of course. You’re… you’re not staying in my room, are you?”

That was followed by a silence so short that threatened to become increasingly awkward. Meg cleared her throat and tried to fill it in.

“Why wouldn’t your cousin stay in your room, Claire? Granted, there might be plenty of guest rooms in the house, but it would nicer if you shared it with her. That way you could get to know her much better for her staying here.”

“Right, of course,” Claire repeated, forcing out a smile. “That’ll be nice, I suppose.”

Hael tactfully changed the topic next:

“You haven’t had anything to eat, Miss Masters. Are you ill?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I’ve already had some earlier, when Mr. Novak and I were in his business room.”

This seemed to surprise Hannah for some reason.

“Really?” She turned her gaze towards Mr. Novak with both eyebrows raised. “You’re telling me Cas allowed you into his business room for tea time?”

Mr. Novak suddenly looked very embarrassed and looked at his shoes as if he wasn’t the topic of the conversation.

“Is there anything wrong with that?” Meg asked, a little confused.

“No, not all,” Hannah said, a smile blossoming in her lips. “It’s just that Cas is always so serious about his work…”

“Hannah, please,” Mr. Novak begged.

“‘ _I am working right now, Hannah, I don’t want to be interrupted. I will join you for dinner. Now, if you don’t mind, these are some very important businesses_ ,” Hannah said, playfully imitating Mr. Novak’s gruff tone. Hael chuckled and even Claire openly laughed. Meg was also tempted to laugh, but she hid it in the back of her hand. After all, no matter how many liberties she took with him, he was still his employer. “Every single time. And then he wonders why we don’t visit him more often.”

“You’re making me sound like ill-tempered recluse,” Mr. Novak complained, squinting his eyes at his cousin.

“Well, aren’t you?” Hannah asked, prompting more giggles from the nieces and more embarrassment from Mr. Novak.

“You’re not ill-tempered uncle,” Hael said. “You _are_ a bit a grumpy, though.”

“That highly depends on what time of the day it is and if he’s had breakfast yet or not,” Claire added. That was a reach coming from someone who wouldn’t even made polite conversation until after she’d had at least a couple of slices of bread, but Hannah and Hael found it amusing nonetheless.

“I feel compelled to defend this poor man,” Meg intervened. “He has some virtues, after all.”

“Please, illuminate us,” Hannah replied, opening her hands as if she was waiting for Meg to deliver some delicate truths. “What are, according to you, some of my dear cousin’s virtues?”

Meg shot a quick glance at Mr. Novak. He suddenly seemed to have focused all her attention on her and she immediately started regretting haven’t talked at all. The other women could tease him, since they were his family, but she definitely didn’t have that same liberty, no matter what Hannah said about the oddness of her being allowed into his business room.

“Well, he is very… dedicated,” Meg said, hoping to save some face. “To everything he does, he puts all his effort into it. He might come off as standoffish when he’s focused on something, but I believe is commendable.”

Hannah was observing her curiously now, as if she was trying to determine something about her without having to ask. Mr. Novak breathed out, relieved.

“Thank you.”

“Also, can stubbornness be considered a virtue?” Meg asked.

That certainly lightened up the mood greatly. Even Mr. Novak dared to crack a shy smile. They were still laughing at his expense when Jo returned and announced the guest rooms were ready and the baggage had been transported upstairs, in case the guests wanted to freshen up before supper.

“Ah, thank you,” Hannah said, standing up and straightening the skirt of her dress. “Do you mind showing me upstairs, Miss…? Dear, do you mind if I call you by your Christian name?”

“Not at all,” she replied. She found many uses on England ridiculous, but the fact that everyone was so formal all the time had to be the worst of all, because how were you supposed to meet people if you never opened up to them? She was relieved Hannah was a little more relaxed about it. “It’s Marjorie, but you may call me Meg.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” Hannah said, offering her an arm to stand up. “Why don’t you call her by her name, Cas?”

“That would be…”

“Inappropriate,” Claire and Hael said in unison. Before anyone could scold them for their manners, they bolted out of the room. Their laugher echoed down the hall.

Hannah also let out a snicker and shook her head as they all stood up.

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” she said. “She’s going to be living under your roof, for… how long again?”

“As long as I’m needed, God willing,” Meg replied, with a shrug. “I really don’t mind if you do, Mr. Novak.”

Mr. Novak seemed slightly uncomfortable again.

“I’d prefer not to,” he said, avoiding their gaze.

“Have it your way, then,” Hannah said, making a dismissive gesture at him. “Come, Meg, let’s not bother Mr. Novak anymore with our outrageous behavior.”

Meg had to laugh as they walked out of the room. “Outrageous” had been the word he’d used to describe her wanting to go to the town by herself. She had the feeling Hannah had been at the other end of one of Mr. Novak’s talking to as well.

“Dear Meg, I think you’re having a wonderful influence in this house,” Hannah commented as they climbed up the stairs towards Hannah’s room.

“Thank you. Claire isn’t really that aloof or rebellious once you get to know her better,” Meg said.

“Oh, I know. I’ve lost count of how many letters Castiel’s written me asking me for advice. The way he made it sound, I was expecting to find a half-feral child when we arrived instead of that wonderful and shy little lady,” Hannah told her, with another giggle. “No, but I mean on my cousin.”

Meg was baffled by that statement and it must have shown on her face, because Hannah laughed once more.

“He must really enjoy your company, if he lets you join him in his business room and distract him from his duties,” Hannah explained. “He rarely does that for me and I’m his family. It’s great that you’ve gotten him to come out of his shell, if only a little bit. Well, I believe this one’s mine.” They stopped in front a door and Hannah dedicated a warm smile to her. “I will see you at supper.”

She walked into her room and closed the door behind her, leaving Meg in the hallway, wondering.


	5. Chapter 5

It snowed heavily and early that winter. Castiel would’ve adopted the habit of sleeping in his business room just to save himself the trouble of climbing up and down the stairs, as he had done on other years, but he knew Hannah would have scolded him for taking so little care of himself. Still, he spent as much time as he could near the fire, with his bad leg outstretched so he could get as much warmth from the flames as it was possible and when he needed something from the second floor, he sent Dean or Sam to get it from him.

The house was crowded with Hannah and Hael there compared to when they were only its three usual occupants, but he found himself feeling strangely melancholic and lonely. Maybe it was due to the fact Miss Masters no longer found time to spend with him. She was always either with Hannah or with the girls, listening to Hael play the pianoforte or preparing sweets with them. He couldn’t possibly blame her for it, of course. He knew sometimes he made a very stern company and she would prefer spending those days with someone else.

But he still miss hearing her knock on the door and asking if he had the time to have some tea with her.

“You’re truly smitten by this girl, aren’t you, dear cousin?” Hannah asked them one morning.

Castiel was standing by the window, looking at Hael and Claire outside. They were apparently having a snowball fight and laughing to their hearts’ content, while Miss Masters looked on at them from a bench. He didn’t recognize the book she was reading. It wasn’t one of her usual poetry ones.

He realized he had been staring at her without answering to Hannah’s comment, so he quickly cleared his throat.

“She’s a very smart young woman and I find our conversations stimulating,” he said. “That is all.”

“Ah, yes. So stimulating you spend time alone with her in your business room,” Hannah commented. “How scandalous.”

“We’re not always alone,” Castiel said. His cheeks burned anyway because he knew, on some level, that Hannah was right about this. “Claire joins us, sometimes. When she feels like it.”

When he turned to sit on the armchair next to his cousin, however, he was met with the full force of Hannah’s skeptic expression.

“There’s nothing inappropriate about it,” Castiel insisted. He limped towards the other chair and sat in front of her. “You know I would never…”

“Yes, I know,” Hannah interrupted him sharply. “You’re all about manners and decency. I fear sometimes that you have become overly cautious, dear.”

“There’s no such thing,” Castiel replied. He sighed, because despite her teasing, Hannah was bringing up something he himself had thought about repeatedly. “Do you think maybe I should stop?”

“Why? You said it yourself, there’s nothing inappropriate about it.” Hannah leaned over to pick up her cup of tea and looked at him with a knowing smirk. “It’s not as if you’re courting her or anything.”

Castiel startled at the very mention of it.

“Of course not,” he said, leaning back on his chair as if Hannah had thrown something at him. “Hannah, that’s… that’s unthinkable.”

“Why?” Hannah inquired. “You said it yourself, she’s smart, she’s educated, she clearly comes from a good family. She’s American, though, but I suppose people can’t be perfect.”

“Her nationality is hardly her only defect,” Castiel pointed out. “She’s impulsive and idealistic and sometimes she disregards social rules entirely.”

“So she’s exactly what you need to lighten up a little bit,” Hannah replied with a snort. “I heartily approve.”

Castiel bit the inside of his cheek. Sometimes it was hard for him to tell when Hannah was teasing him and when she was being serious. This was such an occasion, but it annoyed him even more than usual. Perhaps because she was bringing up something he didn’t want to think about and had been avoiding to so with moderate success.

“She’s still beneath my social standing. And you’ve heard her. I am a stubborn and prosaic man who works too much.”

“Really? What I heard was her saying you were dedicated and how she saw that as a virtue,” Hannah replied. Castiel didn’t say a word, avoiding her eyes one more time. Hannah sighed, put her cup aside and looked at him so he couldn’t escape her eyes. “Why is it unthinkable that you’d propose to her, Castiel?”

“Mother would be horrified if she was there to see me even considering it,” he grumbled.

“Ah, yes, dear old Aunt Naomi. God rest her soul,” Hannah said. There was the slightest trace of irony in her words. “But she isn’t here, is she? So the only person you’d really have to respond to for your actions is yourself.”

That was undeniably true. And yet Castiel refused to even consider what Hannah was saying. He couldn’t say he hadn’t been enthralled by Miss Masters’ intelligence. He had been, as well as baffled by her boldness and astounded by her beauty, from the first time they had spoken. That didn’t change anything, of course. They had a cordial friendship and sometimes heated debates about the topics they disagreed on. That was all. He couldn't expect her to even think about him in any other manner and he didn't.

"Or perhaps you're afraid she might reject you?" Hannah asked, as usual hitting the nail on the head. "But why would she even do that if you get along so well?"

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "As you have pointed out to me several times, I'm not very savvy when it comes to understanding other people's feelings. Especially the female kind."

Hannah laughed at him again, but he knew she didn't mean to mock him.

"Would you like me to discreetly ask on your behalf?" she offered. "Women tend to confess to their friends things they wouldn't even tell their suitors."

"I'm not Miss Masters' suitor," Castiel protested. "I'm not courting her, since I have no intentions of marrying her. In fact, I have no intentions of marrying anyone at the time being. And I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't bring up such speculations to the girls."

"Who do you take me for, Castiel?" she huffed. "Of course I won't."

Castiel was left with the uneasy feeling that hadn't been the end of that conversation.

* * *

Meg hadn't realized how isolated Heavenly Manor was until Hannah and Hael arrived to change a little the pace of the mansion. Claire's morning lessons seemed to be shorter, since she finished them quicker and went to the blue room to play the pianoforte with Hael (she had taught her how to play some very simple pieces) or, if it wasn't snowing, to take a stroll around the properties' grounds together. She was a little over a years older than Claire, on the cusp of turning seventeen, but for the way she talked, it was as if she was much more experienced.

"Daddy took us to Scotland last years and we saw the most beautiful medieval castles. Wouldn't that be grand, to live in a castle?"

"I already feel like I live in a castle," Claire replied. "Heavenly Manor is huge compared to the attic where papa and I lived."

Her face still turned somber when she commented that sort of thing, but Hael's enthusiasm quickly vanished those shadows.

"Ah, yes, New York City," she said, with a glint in her blue eyes. "I would love to visit it one day. So far I have only been to London and Paris, though daddy promised that if their businesses in Madrid were successful, he would take us there next year."

Meg couldn't help to feel a stab of empty at the casual way she numbered all the places she had been at, but she tried to keep a face straight when Hael turned to her and asked:

"Have you been to New York, Miss Masters?"

"Only briefly, when I was waiting for the ship that would bring me here," Meg said. "It's wonderful that you've had the opportunity to visit all of those places at such a young age, Hael."

"I am very lucky," Hael admitted. Then she smiled wide as if she'd realized something very important. "You could ask Uncle Cas to let you come with us when we go to Spain next year! I would love to have the company and I'm sure mom will be delighted as well. Of course, that'll have to be after the summer. You cannot miss your first social season in the city."

Claire grimaced as if she'd just been pinched.

"Can't I?"

"Of course not," Hael said, still enthusiastic in the face of Claire's pessimism. "I'll be there as well, and you’ll get to know my brother along with all sorts of interesting people. And we can go to balls and... the theater! Wouldn't you love to go to the theater?"

Claire slowly raised her head, as if Hael had said something very interesting indeed.

"I would like that very much, actually."

Meg decided to save that tidbit of information to rely to Mr. Novak later.

"Alright, girls, let's go inside," she said. "I don't want you to get sick and it's almost tea time."

Claire and Hael skipped on the steps and laughed as they took off their boots and coats upon coming inside. Meg could say with certainty Mr. Novak had been right to invite his cousin. It gave Claire a much needed playmate, since they were both so young they couldn't be considered women still.

And of course, she was ever so glad for Hannah. She had a biting sense of humor to match her own and she was much less formal than Mr. Novak. Though she still had some qualms about what was “proper” for a young woman to be doing or not.

“Goodness, why would you read that?” she asked, scandalized, when Meg revealed to her that she was re-reading _The Castle of Otranto_ and told her some details of the plot. Her horrified face was so hilarious that Meg couldn’t help but to chuckle.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she replied. “It is a great read. The atmosphere provided is immersive, the story is riveting. What’s not to love?”

Hannah looked at her skeptical but she said nothing. They were spending time tea in the blue room, though this time Hael wasn’t playing the piano. The girls were upstairs, as far as they knew, because Claire had decided she wanted to show Hael her paintings after all. Hannah was embroidering what seemed to be handkerchief and Meg had been lost in the pages of her book until Hannah took an interest in it.

“You future husband might have something to say about you reading that sort of book, dear Meg.”

“That is his problem, isn’t it?” Meg said, with another laugh. “And besides, if he were to protest about it, I would call off the engagement immediately. I could never marry a man that’s intimidated by something as simple as my choice of books.”

Hannah still looked slightly shocked, but she was smiling slightly when she shook her head.

“Men do have the strangest hang-ups,” she admitted. “When Mr. Johnson and I first got married, he didn’t want me to visit Castiel for a while.”

“Why was that?”

“He believed that Castiel intended to marry me before he swooped in and asked me first,” Hannah explained, with a laugh, as if the whole idea was ridiculous. “I told him, ‘ _Joseph, darling, if Castiel had wanted to marry me, he would have asked. And if I didn’t want to marry you, I wouldn’t have. So stop it with your unreasonable fears._ ’”

Meg imagined Hannah, who seemed so kind and noble, putting her husband in her place and the idea made her smile.

“Of course, he wasn’t being completely unreasonable,” Hannah admitted. “This was right after Jimmy’s eloping. The scandal was the gossip of the town and my aunt and uncle didn’t show their faces for months afterwards, they were so ashamed.”

“Should you be telling me about this?” Meg asked, a little uncomfortable. Mr. Novak had been very open the circumstances of Claire’s birth and she knew from Mrs. Harvelle his brother leaving had affected him greatly. But Hannah was clearly close to Mr. Novak and she would know many details that perhaps he would’ve preferred to keep private.

“Oh, it was so long ago,” Hannah said, with a shrug. “Very few people remember it now. Though not a day goes by without Cas thinking about it, I’m sure, even before Claire came to live here. Did he tell you how he got his leg hurt?”

“He said he fell off the horse.”

“He left out a lot of details, I see,” Hannah commented. “He was riding after Jimmy when it happened. He was trying to stop the carriage and reason with his brother. That was why I wanted to visit him that spring after I got married; I knew he would be bedridden while his leg healed and he would need some company. So I saw firsthand the impact it all had in him.”

She stopped talking for a moment, looking down at her work. Meg wondered if she was thinking she’d said too much, but then Hannah looked up and continued:

“It changed him completely. Believe it or not, he used to be a carefree boy when we were growing up, always laughing and joking along with Jimmy, though he was the more prudent of the two. Afterwards, he just immersed himself in his studies and the administration of Heavenly Manor. I know Aunt Naomi dragged him to dances and parties of all kinds, expecting him to meet a good girl and marry soon, thinking that would cheer him up…”

“But he never did,” Meg completed. It was hard not to be interested in the story. Mr. Novak was always so serious and dry, no one could tell there was this… pain lurking underneath that façade.

“He never did,” Hannah confirmed, with a sigh. Meg suspected she also wished Castiel had got married. “Not for a lack of interested ladies, mind you.”

She looked outside the window for a moment, sighing. Meg was about to return to her book, thinking Hannah was done talking, when she asked:

“You do think he has some qualities, don’t you?”

Meg blinked at her, slightly confused.

“What does what I think about him matter at all?”

“I haven’t lost hope that he will find someone to share his life with,” Hannah explained. “Even being an ill-tempered recluse, as he is.”

“He’s not ill-tempered,” Meg insisted. “He’s merely… impatient with things that could create a disturbance in his life.”

“Dear, you’re too kind,” Hannah chuckled. “Perhaps a girl like you it’s exactly what he needs.”

“Oh, I could never marry a man like Mr. Novak.”

Meg said it thoughtlessly, without even thinking there could be some sort of weight to her words. But when she looked again, she saw Hannah’s smile faltering a little, as if she was disappointed.

“Why not?” Hannah asked. “If you don’t mind me asking. I thought you liked him well enough.”

“I do,” Meg admitted. “And we have a most cordial friendship, which I’m sure many people would consider a good basis for a marriage. But I feel there must be something… more to it. Attraction, maybe. Some sort of… infatuation.”

“Passion?” Hannah suggested.

“Yes.” Meg nodded. “It’s just not enough to like someone to marry them, I believe. There also must be some sort of passion to it as well.”

“You’re looking for a grand romance that would sweep you off your feet like the ones in your books, is that it?”

Meg shrugged. She didn’t care if Hannah considered it silly. If she was going to love one time, if she was going to chain her life to someone else’s, Meg had to be sure that at least she would experience the exhilaration her favorite poets wrote about.

Hannah did look like she disapprove, shaking her head slightly.

“You reveal your youth by thinking like that. A love like the one you speak of comes quickly, but extinguishes just as fast. And when it’s gone, you’re left with a bitter marriage built on ashes that couldn’t possibly make you happy.”

“You might be right,” Meg admitted. “Which is why is just as likely I’ll die a childless spinster. Mr. Novak is very wary of any exalted emotion for what happened to his brother and I have no interest in mellowness. Someone like him and someone like me wouldn’t be a good match.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I tell you I believe you’re wrong,” Hannah replied. “There are times for passion in a marriage, but there are also times for calmness and reason. The two of them don’t have to exclude each other if one is capable of finding a balance.”

That was probably a very sensible position and Meg believed that in years to come, she should feel inclined to agree with Hannah. For now, though, their opinions on the topic bear little weight, since Hannah was already married and Meg wasn’t trying to find a husband. And besides:

“It makes no difference. Mr. Novak wouldn’t be interested in someone as young and reckless such as myself. So I repeat, what I think of him as a potential husband is completely irrelevant.”

Hannah leaned back in her arm chair. Her smile revealed nothing of what she was thinking.

“We’ll see.”

* * *

They decorated the house with wreaths and flowers on the days leading up to Christmas. Claire and Meg insisted that having a tree was absolutely necessary, so old Mr. Singer brought a small one and they installed it on the hall next to the chimney. They put candles on its branches and Claire folded and painted a paper angel with a small golden halo for the top. Hael was immediately charmed by this.

“Mom, we must have put one in our home next year! Look how lovely it is!”

“Is this an American custom?” Hannah asked, a little startled but also clearly taken by the tree that stood golden and fragrant once they finished lighting up the candles.

“It must be. Our neighbors always had small trees on Christmas,” Claire said, with a chuckle. “Papa started putting one in our home because I insisted.”

As every time she talked about her father, her smile faltered a little. But this time, it didn’t last long. Mr. Novak moved towards her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Then we shall have one every year,” he determined.

They went to church early on Christmas Day. The travel in the carriage was full of bumps and stops due to the snow. Hael, Claire and Meg travelled on one seat of the carriage. The girls talked in whispers and laughed quietly while Meg looked outside the window at the frost covered fields. At one point, she glanced at the seat in front, where Hannah and Mr. Novak sat, and caught the latter staring in her direction. He immediately looked away, red creeping up in his neck and cheeks.

She decided not to make anything of it.

The reverend, one Mr. Milton that Meg didn’t know, spoke eloquently and beautifully about the birth of the Savior, which was lucky. Meg would’ve thought it rather unfortunate if the reverend turned out to be a boring man that would lull its congregation to sleep with his words.

Outside of the church, they had to stick around while Mr. Novak greeted and shook hands with all his neighbors in the town.

“I hope you’re doing well, Mr. Novak,” a short old woman told him, after offering him her hand to kiss.

“Thank you, Mrs. Abbot. How is your niece?”

“Oh, Daphne got married last spring,” Mrs. Abbot said, twisting her lips and looking positively miffed about it. “She’s Mrs. Allen now.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” Mr. Novak said, smiling with pure honesty. “I would love to have you and her over at Heavenly Manor the next time she visits you.”

“I don’t believe that will happen soon. Her husband is a very busy man.”

Her grey eyes stared daggers into Mr. Novak and it was easy to see she was angry at him for some reason. Mr. Novak didn’t acknowledge it though, and kept chatting politely with her until they moved on to the Miltons.

“Reverend, that was a beautiful service,” he congratulated, shaking his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Novak.”

Mr. Novak then introduced Hannah, Hael and Meg to Mrs. Milton, and the Milton’s daughter, Anna, a girl Meg’s age with vibrant red hair.

“How are you, Miss Milton?” Mr. Novak asked, leaning down to also kiss her hand.

“I’m very well,” Anna Milton replied, her dark eyes watching Mr. Novak’s face closely. “I am happy to announce that I have recently become engaged to be married.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and to a very good man, indeed,” Mrs. Milton said, with a radiant smile. “Lord Garth Fitzgerald and my daughter will be married this summer. We hope you’ll come to the ceremony.”

“I would love to, but I’m afraid I’ll be otherwise engaged. Claire’s debut will be around the same time. But many congratulations to you, Miss Milton. How are you, Mr. Banes? How is your sister?”

“Alicia is very well indeed,” Mr. Banes said, showing a smile that might as well have been a threatening snarl. “She and my mother are staying in Birmingham with my aunt. She writes me she’s meeting a barrage of interesting young men.”

“Well, I hope they’re both in good health.”

They continued making small talk for a while, until finally Mr. Novak said goodbye to the last of his neighbors and they could head back to the carriage.

As soon as they were inside, Hannah burst into laughter.

“Oh, my dear, oblivious cousin. How many hearts have you broken this past last year alone?”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Novak asked, frowning at her.

“All these families, parading their daughters and nieces in front of you, and you didn’t even have the decency to propose to even one of them, so they had to go and find husbands elsewhere!” Hannah explained. “Most inconsiderate, is he not, Meg?”

“Give the poor man a break,” Meg said, trying (and failing to hold back a smile). “I’m sure Mr. Novak didn’t know he was supposed to propose to them.”

“Was I?” Mr. Novak asked, blinking as if this was complete news to him. “Well, I would never insult a lady by encouraging feelings I have no intention of reciprocating. If one of them is angry at me for this, I should apologize for it.”

“Don’t you dare. If you happen to bring it up now, it will be most embarrassing for them,” Hannah told him. “No, no, better leave them thinking about you and what life could have been like if you had only opened your eyes and realized what was being offered to you.”

“Well, since I am an ill-tempered recluse, as you so elegantly put it, then I believe I would make a very poor husband,” Mr. Novak replied. “Perhaps my obliviousness saved these women of having to share a very boring life with me, which I think I should be commended for.”

“You’re impossible,” Hannah complained. Hael and Claire chuckled to themselves.

They spent a long time in the blue room, listening to Hael and Claire play several pieces in the pianoforte, playing card games (which Mr. Novak condemned for being inappropriate in such a sacred day until Hannah taunted him that he was just afraid to lose. He did, in fact, lose to Meg not long afterwards) and by dinner time, they had a very abundant meal consisting on roasted pig and Mrs. Harvelle delicious plum pudding. Meg couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten so much. She was falling pleasantly asleep when Hannah announced she had gifts for everybody.

“It’s just a little something,” she said, while Hael happily went around the table and put the little boxes in front of them. “As a thanks, for your friendship and hospitality.”

They were the handkerchiefs that Meg had seen her embroidering for the last couple of weeks. Hers had a little rose on one of the corners, while Claire’s and Mr. Novak’s had small blue doves. They thank them effusively and then Claire, with her cheeks burning red, said she also had a present for her aunt and cousin and ran upstairs to get it. It turned out to be a small picture, barely bigger than their hands, of Heavenly Manor as it had been that autumn when Meg arrived, full of golden and orange colors. Both Hannah and Hael congratulated Claire for her talent and by the time Mr. Novak stood up and announced he also had a present, Meg was almost feeling bad for not having prepared anything to give them.

However, her embarrassment was quickly replaced by curiosity when Mr. Novak returned from his business room with a small pine chest. By the way Claire sucked in air, and how reverently he put it down on the table next to her, Meg should have realized what it was even before Mr. Novak said:

“In fact, it’s not so much a gift as it is a… restoration.”

Claire stared at the little chest as if she couldn’t believe it, her eyes quickly filling with tears. With trembling hands, she lifted up the lid and glanced inside. It was filled with books with creased spines and yellowed pages, books that have obviously been red and re-read many times, beloved books that were kept in that chest to protect them from any harm.

“I am not so proud as to not admit when I’ve made a mistake,” Mr. Novak continued. “And it was a mistake of overzealousness to take these from you. I didn’t understand how much they meant. I only hope…”

He couldn’t continue. Claire stood from her chair and threw her arms round him, hugging him tight and burying her face in his chest. Her shoulders shook with a barely contained sob as Mr. Novak hesitantly placed a hand on her blonde hair. He was also clearly touched, and when he looked up at Meg and smiled, she felt like she had done something for them that Christmas after all.

* * *

Hannah and Hael left a week after New Year.

“Farewell, Miss Masters. I hope we will see you again very soon.”

“I hope so too, Hael.”

“Please take care of this ridiculous man for me,” Hannah told her, when she leaned to kiss Meg on the cheek as a farewell.

“I don’t know how I could possibly do that,” Meg laughed.

“Oh, just keep doing what you were doing,” Hannah shrugged. “Remind him there’s more to life than just the businesses he conducts in his business room.”

“I will certainly try,” she promised.

Hannah then moved to hug her cousin briefly and muttered something in his ear that made him visibly uncomfortable.

“Hannah, please,” he protested, as the colors crept in his face once more.

“I’m just saying,” Hannah said, unapologetic. “I will not lose hope for you.”

Mr. Novak shook his head and helped her into the carriage. Hael waved at them from the window and then they were gone.

“What did she tell you?” Claire asked, curiously tilting her head at her uncle.

“That’s really none of your concern, Claire,” Mr. Novak replied. “Don’t you have lessons to tend to?”

Soon enough life at Heavenly Manor returned to their usual rhythm. Meg and Claire studied together in the mornings and the better part of the afternoon and joined Mr. Novak for tea later that day. Afterwards, Meg had a few free hours to write alone in her room until the last light of day went out and Jo came knocking on her door, announcing that dinner was ready. Her story had really started to take the length of a book and she was happy she had found the time and discipline to finish it. She was certain she wouldn’t have been able to if she wasn’t living in Heavenly Manor.

She became friends with the local shopkeeper, Mousier Lafitte, who promised to request more books for her from the city and even contact some of his friends across the Channel and bring some in French for Claire to read.

“He’s a most kind and courteous man, without a doubt,” Meg commented one time during tea time.

For some reason, she had the impression Mr. Novak got a little peeved about this. He tightened his lips and put down his cup on the plate a little too forcefully, making a discordant noise.

“I’m sure he is, though I haven’t dealt with him personally long enough,” he commented. “Miss Masters, are you sure you want to keep going to the town by yourself? Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just send Sam or Dean to retrieve whatever is that you need? Or to leave the letters you write for your family?”

“Easier, yes, but far less interesting,” Meg replied. “One has to move once in a while, Mr. Novak. It keeps the mind awake and the body in form.”

Mr. Novak tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, a gesture Meg had come to learn meant he was lost deep in thought.

“And would you mind if I came with you, then?” he asked after a moment.

Meg blinked at him, extremely surprised by this.

“Well, you are free to do as you please, of course,” she said, after careful consideration of her words. “I just thought that with the weather still rather cold you wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that. Besides…”

She stopped, not sure how to say the next thing without sounding completely insensitive.

“Besides?” Mr. Novak encouraged her.

Meg swallowed and decided he was a more than reasonable man who wouldn’t be offended by the logical question.

“How would you ride?”

Mr. Novak lowered his eyes at his leg stretched over the stool in front of the chimney and sighed. It was cleared that he had thought about that detail and was hoping Meg wouldn’t notice.

“You’ve seen we have mild autumns, so the weather shouldn’t be a problem. And as for my ride, I suppose it’s time to tell Mr. Singer to train a horse that I can conduct only with the reins,” Mr. Novak explained. “He’s been offering to do that for years, but I have been… postponing it.”

Meg didn’t need to ask why. Knowing the full story of how his accident had come to happen, she could imagine riding brought bad memories to him. The fact he was offering to do that for her now…

Of course it wasn’t for her. Meg put those thoughts aside quickly.

“Well, if it pleases you, you certainly can do that, Mr. Novak,” she told him. “On my account, I don’t mind riding alone. And if we’re going to go with Claire, we might as well take the carriage.”

Mr. Novak licked his lips. The intensity of his stare became even more forceful when he leaned towards her.

“I’d like to go with you, Miss Masters. If you’ll indulge me.”

“Well, of course,” Meg said. “I just…”

She let her voice trail off. What she had been about to ask was highly inappropriate and she didn’t want to anger him. But he kept looking at her, tilting his head.

“Yes?” he prompted her.

“I… don’t understand why,” Meg confessed.

Mr. Novak breathed out slowly and when he looked at her again, his gaze was a lot softer.

“I suppose… I haven’t been exactly open about my feelings. Both Hannah and Balthazar realized right away, but perhaps that was because they knows me so well.”

“I’m still not sure what you’re talking about.”

Mr. Novak did something that completely caught her off guard: he stretched his hand and grabbed hers, pulling it closer to him and squeezing tight. He still seemed a little embarrassed when he looked up, but there was pure determination in his bright blue eyes.

“Miss Masters, I am in love with you,” he said simply. “I would very much like you to be my wife.”


	6. Chapter 6

Meg stayed frozen where she was, staring at her employer – her friend – at a complete loss for words. She opened her mouth and closed it again as if she was gasping for air. Her lungs certainly felt empty, even though she was fairly sure she was breathing just fine. Her heart was pounding fast in her chest, but she was pretty certain it wasn’t any sort of excitement that was causing it. It was a sort of strange panic, in fact. There was no right answer, because whatever she said now would change their relationship, both professional and personal, irrevocably.

She couldn’t say no to him. It would be irresponsible to say no. When a man of his position proposed to a woman of hers, the answer was supposed to be positive. She liked him, he was a brilliant man and his grumpiness was sometimes amusing. There was no reason for her to say no.

And yet, the seconds kept passing and the words didn’t roll out of her mouth, as if they were stubbornly stuck in her throat.

He was expecting some sort of answer soon, his stare fixed on her face, analyzing her expression, waiting with such trepidation in his eyes, such… passion. Meg had never been looked at that way before. She didn’t think Mr. Novak was even capable of feelings so strong. And now that she was seeing it, right in front of her… she didn’t know how to react. It made it all the more difficult for her to speak at all.

Fortunately, this became clear after only a few more awkward seconds. The light dimmed out in Mr. Novak’s face as he hastily let go of her hand.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he muttered, looking down at his own lap in shame. “That wasn’t my intention. Please, forgive me.”

“I…” Meg said. Her voice came out hoarse and low, so she stopped to clear her throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Novak. I… you caught me by surprise. I didn’t know… I had no idea you felt that way for me.”

Was that true? She had noticed him looking at her sometimes and his concerns for her comings and goings… she had just assumed it was his usual fretting nature. She didn’t think there was anything at all special about it.

There was a tinge of sadness in the way he smiled back at her.

“Of course you didn’t,” he muttered. “I made an effort to conceal it, but I didn’t know how successful I really was. It now appears the answer to that is… very much so.”

“I didn’t think… if I did something to make you believe…” Meg stuttered. Her thoughts were still raging in her mind and she couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence.

“You did nothing of the sort, of course,” he said, shaking his head. “It was me. I foolishly deluded myself into thinking… but there’s no point in talking about it now.”

Meg still felt like she should say something. Anything. What she really wanted to do, though, was running out of the business room and locking herself in her room until she could get her thinking straight again.

Mr. Novak did it first. He grabbed his cane, stood up in the same slow way he usually and limped a few steps away from her, towards the window, as if he physically needed to put some space between the two. Meg couldn’t blame him for feeling that way.

“Please, let’s forget this conversation happened,” he begged, not even looking at her anymore. “I am thoroughly embarrassed and I would regret it very much if my carelessness made your staying with us awkward in any way.”

“I… I didn’t give you an answer,” Meg pointed out.

“You didn’t have to, Miss Masters,” he replied, turning slightly to look at her over his shoulder. “Your silence spoke very eloquently.”

Meg felt the heat flowing to her head. But amazingly, it wasn’t out of guilt or remorse for having reacted so poorly. She was actually starting to get angry. Yes, she had reacted poorly, but only because he had ambushed her with that declaration. It had been so formal and brief, how did he expect her to believe him? Even now she was questioning what he saw in his face a minute before. She was questioning if it really pained him at all.

She stood up and walked around the chairs so that she could stand in front of him, so that he couldn’t escape her eyes.

“I don’t love you,” she stated, fixing her gaze on him.

Mr. Novak seemed taken aback by the forcefulness of her words, but he didn’t try to back down or move away.

“I… figured that, yes,” he replied.

“You’re infuriatingly preachy and self-centered,” she continued. “You need me or Claire or your cousin to point out when people take an interest in you. You’re not rude, but I believe that’s because you’re so… mechanical that you couldn’t possibly find it in yourself to be anything but a perfect gentleman.”

He was staring at her, blinking owlishly at every one of her sentences.

“I’m sorry, am I supposed to find that insulting?”

“Yes,” Meg replied, bitterly. “Perfection isn’t worth it if it’s rooted in a complete lack of passion for anything and everyone around you. You say you love me, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to pay me a compliment while proposing to me. You can’t even look hurt that I rejected you. And this is why I can’t love you, Mr. Novak. It’s why every woman who ever took an interest in you walked away disappointed.”

He didn’t say a word. For a second, a fraction of a second, she thought she saw his eyes flaring up when he lowered them at her. But then it was gone, replaced by the same icy blue as usual.

“I appreciate you being so honest with me, Miss Masters,” he said, the same intonation in his voice as if he was commenting the weather with her. “If you could leave now, there are some businesses that require my attention. I will see you again at supper.”

Meg resisted the urge to push him or do something equally outrageous; just to see if that would get him to become as angry as she felt. It was as frustrating as arguing with a marble statue and just as useful. So all she did was spin on her heels and leave the room without a second look at him.

Once in her room, as it often happened to her after one of her outbursts, she started regretting her words. She knew she had said it as a way to provoke him and perhaps she had managed. Perhaps he was so slow to anger that he would decide later that evening or even the following day that he couldn’t have someone like her at his home and that it would be better if she was dismissed entirely. Claire wouldn’t like it, but it had been obvious in the past that Mr. Novak didn’t let his opinion be swayed by his niece.

Perhaps she should call him to talk in private and apologize to him. Except… it wouldn’t be sincere. She had meant every word she had said. She didn’t feel sorry for saying it, since it had been the pure truth, but perhaps she could have found another moment or tone to point out his flaws to him. Or maybe not, since it wasn’t her place to do that at all to begin with.

So she spent the better part of that afternoon pacing around her room and panicking slightly. In moments like, that it really helped her to talk to her father. She knew exactly what he would do: he would sigh, shake his head and say something along the lines “You just had to inherit your mother’s temper…” She hadn’t known her mother, since she had died soon after Meg was born, but for the stories her father told, she was also in the habit of getting in trouble thanks to her tongue.

She sat down and took out her quill and a piece of paper from her desk’s drawers. She started writing the letter to her father, but she hadn’t even finished the first sentence wishing him and her brother well when she realized she couldn’t bother him with this. He would get concerned that she might lose her job (she might have lost it already, by the time this letter made it all the way back home), knowing full well there was nothing he could really do to help her. She was alone with her family at the other end of a vast ocean, so whatever the consequences for what she had said and done, she would have to face them alone.

And if she showed up with her tail between her legs back home, she knew her father wouldn’t judge her for it. He would try to find out what had happened, but he wouldn’t shame her for failing. So in any case, no matter what happened, she could always fall back on going home after all. So, why make him worry in advance if the consequences were inevitable one way or another?

She ended up writing what she always did: about the quiet, inconsequential life they carried in the manor, about Claire’s lessons and how they were progressing, about the preparations to spend the summer at London. She didn’t mention Mr. Novak at all. She didn’t know if her father would notice that absence since she had talked at length about him on her previous letters, but she couldn’t be too worried about it.

She had just finished signing it and sealing it when Jo knocked on her door, announcing supper was about to be served. Meg gave her the letter so the Winchesters or Mr. Singer would take her to the post the next time they went to the town and descended the stairs, readying herself to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

Apparently, Mr. Novak had decided to do the same thing, except he had gone all the way into the other direction and stayed notoriously silent during dinner. Well, maybe notoriously to Meg, because Claire didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. She was too busy gushing about the letter that Hael had sent to her.

“She said she visited Alhambra and it was so beautiful she wished I could make a painting of it. They also saw a bullfight in which the torero stabbed the bull. She said it was very exciting.”

“I don’t understand what could be exciting about it,” Mr. Novak said, in what was perhaps the longest sentence he had said since they’d sat down. “It sounds unnecessarily cruel to me.”

“Well, of course. You hate everything that could possibly warm the blood,” Claire said, with a grin.

There was a long pause. Meg took her glass to her lips and sipped, ignoring the fact Claire was clearly waiting for her to join into the teasing. Mr. Novak also didn’t reply, choosing to chew his dinner very slowly to keep his mouth busy. Claire looked from one to the other, perhaps expecting one of them to scold her, but when it didn’t happen, she just cleared her throat and continued her blabbering about Hael and the adventures she was having in Spain.

The following week, Mr. Novak discreetly avoided her, excusing himself early from both breakfast and supper and leaving the room whenever she walked in. That was fine with Meg. The house was big and there was room for the two of them. So she finished her lessons with Claire and sometimes went for a walk in the fields or locked herself in the room to read or continued to work on her book. Except that she seemed to have hit a block on the road, because suddenly the words didn’t flow as easily as before, the dialogue turned stale and her descriptions lacked the liveliness they used to have. She went back to review the draft and found that there were some salvageable passages, but she felt the urgent need to discard it completely.

After a while, however, she started missing the talks with her employer. Claire was a very smart girl, but she preferred to read in silence or work in her painting, so they usually didn’t have many stimulant conversations. Mrs. Harvelle and Jo, while they had warmed up to her in the months she had been there, were always busy and she didn’t dare to interrupt her chores just because she felt lonely. Mr. Lafitte, likewise, while very much a kind man that would entertain her when she came into his store, certainly saw her more as a client than anything else.

So that was the true consequences of her careless words: she had alienated her only friend in Heavenly Manor. And worst of all, she didn’t know how to apologize. Mr. Novak certainly wouldn’t either. Whether it was because she had wounded his pride gravely or because he thought she didn’t want to talk him, it was impossible to tell.

So they remained in that strange impasse. The following week, Mr. Singer brought Claire’s palfrey, a beautiful chestnut mare, and another young gelded horse, completely white except for a spot in his forehead.

“The previous owner told me he had a very gentle temper,” he said, while he walked him around so Claire, Meg and Mr. Novak could admire him. “So it shouldn’t be a problem to train him to respond just to the reins.”

Meg was a little surprised to find Mr. Novak had gone ahead with the plan of getting a horse he could ride after all. Or perhaps it was that he had already decided to buy it and it was too late to back down despite the fact his relationship with her had gone cold. She had no way of knowing, since he avoided her gaze, as he usually did those days and continued talking to Mr. Singer as if he hadn’t thought about all of those implications.

“I expect the two of them will be fully trained by the time we come back.”

“Leave it to me, mister,” Mr. Singer said, very pleased to count with his boss’ approval. “It would seem Miss Claire’s making friends already.”

Claire was patting her palfrey in the muzzle and smiling at her.

“I think I will call her _Juliet_ ,” she decided, her blue eyes glimmering with pure happiness. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

Meg didn’t have more time to speculate about the horses, because before she knew it, they were making preparations for their trip to London. Mr. Novak received a letter from Hannah announcing their return from Spain just in time for the season’s beginning and saying she was already expecting them at her home in London. Claire got so excited she requested to be excused from supper early and climbed the stairs to prepare her luggage.

Meg and Mr. Novak were left alone in the dining room in a very uncomfortable silence that lasted until she cleaned her mouth and said she was retiring for the night.

“Of course,” Mr. Novak said. “I am certain you will be most occupied with packing your own belongings.”

“My belongings?” Meg repeated, frowning. “Do you still want me to come?”

“Why wouldn’t I want that, Miss Masters?” he asked. He turned his eyes to her, for what felt like the first time since that very uncomfortable conversation in his business room. “I promised to take you. Besides, Hannah and Claire would be both very disappointed if you didn’t come along.”

That didn’t quell Meg’s astonishment at all. She knew, after all, that the social season would be a chance for Mr. Novak to meet new people (meaning, meet other marriageable women) and she didn’t think that he’d like having the woman who had rejected him recently around. Apparently, she was wrong on that account.

“I thought you’d be excited,” he commented, tilting his head as he usually did when he didn’t understand something. “After all, this is a chance for you to relate with other people other than myself and Claire and maybe buy yourself new reading material. A woman as intelligent as you is probably growing restless in this quiet place.”

The surprises just kept on coming. Meg opened her mouth and closed it again, like a fish that had suddenly been taken out of the water.

“Did you just… did you pay me a compliment, Mr. Novak?”

Mr. Novak looked obfuscated again, with his cheeks suddenly growing red, but he held her gaze most valiantly.

“If you felt flattered by it, then perhaps that was fully within my intention,” he confessed. “If it offended you, however, I will take it back immediately.”

“I’m not offended, no. I just didn’t believe you capable of such gallantries.”

“It’s not normally within my range of abilities,” he admitted. “But perhaps you were right in assessing that I could… make an effort to incorporate them into my social interactions.”

It was the first reference he made, however indirect, to the fallout of his proposal. Meg wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but she caught herself smiling without realizing it. He seemed to relax after noticing she wasn’t angry at him for his attempt at praising her.

“I’m sure the ladies your cousin is already planning to introduce you to will appreciate it,” she said.

Mr. Novak smiled at her, again with that tinge of sadness upon his face.

“I’m certain you’re right.”

* * *

The Johnsons lived in a brick house in the very center of the city. Its outward appearance didn’t strike Meg as anything out of the ordinary, but the second they stepped through the threshold, they were greeted by such a cozy and orderly ambient that she couldn’t help but to feel immediately welcomed within its walls. The hall and the living room were ostensibly smaller than those in Heavenly Manor, but its colors were warmer, with a red carpet and a yellow wallpaper adorned with small swallows.

Hael was resting in a divan when the maid announced their entry. Immediately, she stood up and ran towards them to give Claire a tight hug and started babbling immediately.

“I already have so many invitations! I told all my friends about you and they said you absolutely must come along. But of course, first we have to go shopping. You’re going to need new dresses and…”

“Hael, give them a second to breathe. They’d just arrived,” Hannah said, interrupting her daughter. She gave Castiel and Claire a quick hug and kissed Meg on both cheeks. She instructed the servants to take their things upstairs. “Mr. Johnson is working and he took Samandriel with him. That boy is so smart he will certainly be given an apprenticeship in the bank in no time. But I’m sure they’ll be back by supper. Hael, why don’t you show Claire and dear Meg to their rooms?”

Once again the girls would be sleeping in the same room while Meg would have one for her own right next to theirs in the house’s second story. It was a bit of a shock to look outside the window and instead of rolling hills and faraway trees, finding a busy street with carriages and gentleman walking arm in arm with their wives or their friends. She felt delighted though. Mr. Novak had been right, she had been languishing in the manor without even realizing so.

Joseph Johnson, Hannah’s husband, was a very stiff man (or maybe that was the impression Meg had) compared to his wife and daughter’s vivacity. His moustache, in fact, seemed to be his most prominent feature and Meg took mental note to describe him as such in the letter she’d write to her father. Samandriel, on the other hand, was a very proper young man, if shy. His brown hair and blue eyes lent him a remarkable resemblance to his uncle, but he was more prone to smiling and had sharper cheekbones.

“Welcome, cousin,” he told Claire, leaning over to kiss her hand. “I hope you will enjoy your staying with us.”

“I’m sure I will,” Claire said. “Your sister seems decided to exhaust me. She already mentioned at least five dinners I must assist to and I’ve already forgotten half the name of her friends.”

“It’s very important that you meet as much people as possible while you’re here,” Hael said. “That way you can write letters to others beside me. And I’m sure Uncle Cas will appreciate having more visitors at the manor.”

Mr. Novak looked like he had just bit into a lemon. Meg barely was able to suppress a snicker, which granted her a glare from Mr. Johnson.

“Well, since supper will be ready soon, I think we should proceed to the dining room,” he said. “I assume you’d like to retire upstairs, Miss Masters…”

Meg was taken aback for a moment by that suggestion. Why would she need to go upstairs? Claire and Samandriel seemed as disconcerted as she felt, while Hannah and Hale were looking at Mr. Johnson with an identical twitch in their mouths that showed their clear disagreement with that statement.

“Joseph, I know this is your house and you’re allowed to set whichever rules you see fit,” Mr. Novak intervened. “But Miss Masters is usually accepted to dine with us in my home and I would beg you dispense the same courtesy to her while she stays here.”

Mr. Johnson stared at him as if he had just stated that the sky was green and the grass was blue. After a few seconds had passed and the silence grew uncomfortable, he muttered:

“You’re not jesting. That’s… that’s highly informal. I wouldn’t have expected it from you.”

“Perhaps it’s because we live in such a big house with very few people that we can allow ourselves to take certain liberties,” Mr. Novak speculated. “In any case, if you’d be so kind to allow her a place at the table, I would appreciate it and I’m sure she would too.”

Meg actually felt really irritated, especially when Mr. Johnson hesitated to agree. What did he expect them to do, beg him to let her have dinner with everyone else? She was about to stand up and say that she wouldn’t like to submit Mr. Johnson to her presence, if it made him so uncomfortable, when Hannah intervened.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Joe. Of course she’ll be welcome to dine with us.” She glared at her husband, as if she was defying him to contradict her. Mr. Johnson was miffed, pursing his lips underneath his moustache, but clearly he didn’t want to argue with his wife in front of the visits.

“Well, dear. If you deem it appropriate…”

“I do,” Hannah replied sharply. “If you won’t accept Meg at our table because she’s Claire’s governess, do it because I consider her my friend then.”

That settled the debate for good. It still was a very silent and uncomfortable supper. Meg had the impression the maids looked at her sideways while they served her and that Mr. Johnson cleared his throat so much she was tempted to ask him if he had a cold. But after a moment, Hael resumed her chatter about parties and balls and invitations, and soon the talk was monopolized about what they were expecting would happen in the following weeks and how much fun they were going to have.

“Oh, there’s also the opera!” Hael continued. “We absolutely must go. Our Uncle Luc has a box there and I’m sure he’ll be happy to lend it to us…”

Her voice trailed off and it wasn’t hard to see why: the adults’ faces, especially Hannah and Mr. Novak’s, were suddenly very serious and, Meg was willing to admit, almost irritated.

“Luc is in town?” Mr. Novak asked.

“You know he doesn’t miss the season,” Hannah replied, with a smile that was forced at best. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to have him over one of these nights.”

“You say it like it’s an obligation,” Hael complained.

“That’s because it is,” Hannah said, with her usual brutal honesty.

“I don’t know why you dislike him so openly, mama,” Hael replied, shaking her head. “I thought he was a most charming man when we met him last year.”

Mr. Novak and Hannah exchanged a quick look and they immediately changed the topic:

“So, Hannah, what can you tell me about the seamstresses in here? Which one should Claire go to?”

Hael’s eyes glimmered and the conversation was immediately derailed towards the topic of gloves and dresses and hats. Meg had the impression there was something not entirely proper about this “Uncle Luc” person that Hannah and Mr. Novak didn’t want the young ones to find out. Her curiosity was stung, of course, but she had to bite it back and keep smiling as if she hadn’t noticed their discomfort at all.

* * *

The next few days were a flurry of activity. She, Hael and Claire went out into the town to buy the appropriate dresses for Claire’s debut, which Meg wouldn’t be invited to. She didn’t particularly mind, because finally she could spend her savings in books and a pretty little journal to replace the one she had filled while at Heavenly Manor. She was looking forward to spending a quiet night on her own to write to her father and tell him about all the wonderful things she had seen in London (though mostly she had seen stores and seamstresses’ houses, but Hael had promised they would go out sightseeing right after the ball).

At least, that had been her plan until Mr. Novak announced he would be staying in the house as well while Claire went to the ball with the Johnsons.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Claire asked, looking a little apprehensive at those news.

“Balls imply dancing,” Mr. Novak pointed out, tapping his bad leg with his cane. “But I am certain you will have fun and you can tell me all about it the following morning.”

Meg shared Claire’s apprehension, but for different reasons. It would be the first time since the failed proposal that they would be alone, truly alone. She had liked the Johnsons’ house because it was cozier, but suddenly she felt as if it was far too small and there’d be no way to avoid talking to him. Unless she decided to dine at her room, of course, in which case it would become obvious she was avoiding Mr. Novak.

She tried not to think about it too hard, though, as Hael educated Claire about _le bon ton_ and how she should behave around the people they were going to meet.

“Don’t talk to anyone unless you’ve been properly introduced. Don’t worry about that, daddy and Samandriel know a lot of gentlemen and me and mom can introduce you to the women. You have to be gracious and remember to smile at everybody, because that way you will seem friendly. But you don’t want to seem too friendly, because then people will have the wrong idea about you,” Hael said while the seamstress pinned several parts of the dress that would need to be fixed or adjusted before the ceremony. “You also can’t dance twice in a row with the same gentleman. And it would be best if you didn’t talk too much about your father.”

“What’s wrong with my father?” Claire asked, throwing a glare at her over her shoulder.

“Nothing!” Hael assured her, raising her hands defensively. “It’s just… scandals and gossips, even old ones, aren’t considered a proper conversation topic. Make it pleasant to talk to you. Talk about books or your painting or how much you like living at the manor. But perhaps not too much of that, because people will think you’re bragging about your uncle’s money and that will look bad. There’s going to be some nobility there, can you imagine? So you need to bring up safe topics of conversation. Things people will find… nice.”

“Nice?” Claire repeated. It sounded like the word was getting caught in her throat, like an old dog choking on a bone too big for them.

“If anything fails, you can just tell people you’re American,” Hael suggested. “I’m sure they’ll be lenient to you because of that.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can be forgiven for such a crime,” Claire groaned.

Hael let out a laugh, but immediately covered her mouth with her hand delicately.

“See? You have to be witty like that,” she indicated. “But not too witty, as some people will think that you’re making fun of them and that would be rude.”

“How am I even supposed to remember all of these rules?” Claire complained.

“We’re done, dear,” the seamstress announced. She helped Claire removed the dress and step down the footstool. “I’ll have everything ready the day after tomorrow.”

Meg approached with Claire’s day dress and helped her put it on.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she assured her. “You’ll do just fine.”

“I don’t want to embarrass anybody,” Claire said, with a grimace. “Are you sure you can’t convince Uncle Cas to come? And to bring you with us?”

Meg had entertained the idea a well. At least in the ball, she could have an excuse not to talk to Mr. Novak and she could keep entertained long enough that she wouldn’t have to exchange a single word with him. But in the end, she had decided it would be too obvious a move and besides, she wasn’t sure even he could convince Mr. Johnson that it would be totally appropriate to take the governess with them.

“If you’re in doubt, just do what your cousin does,” Meg suggested. “And don’t start spontaneously reciting Shakespeare and pretending you’re Ophelia.”

Claire smiled for the first time in the day. She would do it less and less as the day of the debut approached and on the night itself, she was clearly trembling in her ivory dress with matching gloves. She looked very beautiful indeed and especially when Meg and Hael finished braiding the white feathers in her blonde hair. Hannah lent her a bracelet of pearls and a very fancy fan and then she was ready.

When she descended the stairs, Samandriel, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Novak all stood up. Samandriel’s eyes grew wider and her jaw slacked a little before he caught himself and straightened his back. Mr. Novak took a step forwards and looked down at her with a little grin.

“I also thought the feathers were excessive,” Claire commented.

Mr. Novak shook his head and kissed her in the forehead.

“He would be proud of you,” he said.

He didn’t need to clarify who he meant. Claire managed to smile back at him and let him come with her towards the door, where the carriage was already waiting outside. Mr. Johnson helped his wife and the girls get up, Samandriel closed the door behind them… and they were off.

All the confidence Mr. Novak had been feigning disappear when he breathed out.

“She will be fine,” Meg assured him.

“Yes, I know she will be,” Mr. Novak said, a little forcefully. “Why wouldn’t she?”

There were many answers to that question. Claire could do something inappropriate or say something that was completely out of the blue and blow her chances of meeting a good match. She didn’t care for those things, but Meg was sure there were many people who did. She could also ruin Hael or Samandriel’s chances, since they would be considered guilty by association. They would be slow to forget if she made a mistake and ruthless if they found out about her “scandalous” birth.

Meg forwent pointing all these scenarios to Mr. Novak and announced she was going upstairs for a little bit.

“What? Oh, yes,” he muttered, still looking distractedly in the direction the carriage had left. “But I will see you for supper, won’t I?”

Meg was partially tempted to say that she was going to eat alone in her room, but she didn’t want to seem like a coward.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

She tried to finish a letter for her father, but she kept wondering what she would talk about to Mr. Novak. Since they were alone, they could speak with more honesty and less formality. It could also bring up some topics neither of them should be particularly interested in revisiting. But she had already given her word and she was certain Mr. Novak would be polite enough to change the subject if she asked him to.

So when the maid knocked on her door to announce supper was served, she came down with her head held high and the same smirk she usually wore. As if nothing out of the ordinary were happening at all.

The dishes were served side by side and Meg deduced the servants had thought it would be ridiculous to sit them at different ends of the table. Mr. Novak moved the chair for her before he sat down as well.

“So, Miss Masters,” he started after clearing his throat for a bit. “How are you… are you enjoying our stay in London?”

“It’s a beautiful city,” Meg said, calmly. “I haven’t had the chance to see much of it yet, though.”

“Well, perhaps I could be your guide in the days to come,” Mr. Novak offered himself. He spoke a little too fast and Meg had the impression he had asked that question knowing full well what would be the answer just so he could say that. “Claire will certainly be busy with social events for young people and you would… have some free evenings. We could go for a ride in the carriage. Or even a walk, if you could suffer to keep up with my pace.” He added a chuckle that also was far from sounding natural. As if he was trying to make himself as friendly as possible. Just keeping the conversation… nice.

Meg took a sip of her wine, trying to think of a way to reply to that without hurting his feelings.

“I really appreciate your offer, Mr. Novak,” she said, speaking very slowly. “But wouldn’t that be…?”

“Inappropriate?” he said, guessing immediately what her objection would be. “Perhaps. I can imagine it could start some gossips if we were to run into someone who knew me. However, I am willing to defend our friendship if it becomes too insidious.”

“Our friendship?” Meg repeated.

“Since you’ve made it so clear that you’re not interested in anything else…”

And there it was. The thorny topic Meg had wanted to avoid. She was about to tell him that was true, that she hadn’t changed her mind, and if that he kept on bringing it up, she would call off their relationship altogether, when the housekeeper stumbled onto the living room, seemingly out of breath.

“Excuse me, Mr. Novak,” she gasped. “I tried… I tried to tell him that the family wasn’t here…”

“You’ve done more than an excellent job at trying to stall me, Maddie,” a voice came from behind her. “Now, could you please step aside so I can greet my cousin?”

Startled, Maddie had no choice but to do as she was told, since the blonde gentleman coming behind her seemed decided to push her aside if she didn’t. He strutted into the dining room as if he owned the place, with long confident strides and a grin on his face that almost looked mocking. His gaze wandered around the dining room as if he was looking for something specific before they settled on Castiel.

“Hello, cousin.”

“Luc,” Mr. Novak said, coldly, but he stood up to shake his cousin hand with the appropriate courtesy. Of course. “It’s… good to see you.”

“You don’t need to lie to me,” the gentleman replied. “Our last conversation didn’t end in friendly terms.”

Mr. Novak briefly glanced in Meg’s direction, as if he didn’t want to bring out that topic in front of her, but that had the unexpected effect of having his cousin notice her as well.

“And who is this charming lady?” Luc asked, moving around the table to greet her.

Meg stood up and Luc immediately caught her hand. His grey eyes fell on her face with such intensity, such fire in them, that Meg almost had to contain a shiver.

“This is Megan Masters, Claire’s governess,” Mr. Novak introduced her. “Miss Masters, this is my cousin, Lucas Milton.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Milton.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Luc said.

He brought Meg’s hand to his lips. They were hot and soft and he kept them against her skin for a second too long. Meg’s pulse quickened and she felt dizzy, while Luc beamed again, as if he knew exactly the effect he’d had on her.

Meg had no doubt that was exactly the case. Mr. Milton was a most dangerous man.

And she was utterly fascinated by him.


	7. Chapter 7

The evening lasted longer than any of them were expecting. Mr. Milton said he’d already eaten, but he insisted in joining them and making conversation while Meg and Mr. Novak finished their supper. He joked about how he’d just missed Hannah and her family, remembered all the balls and events he had gone to when he was younger and managed to embarrass his cousin in the process:

“All the beautiful girls wanted to dance with him. Of course, that was before they realized he wasn’t his brother. No offense, Castiel, but Jimmy did always have a way with people that you lacked.”

“I take none. It’s true,” Mr. Novak said. He kept his tone cordial, but there was something about his posture that was… off. His shoulders were stiff and his grip around the knife’s handle was a little tighter than it probably should have been.

Meg barely noticed those signs of tension, though. Luc Milton had one of those magnetic personalities that just soaked up the attention of everyone in the room, and worse of all, he was well aware of it. When he got tired of teasing Mr. Novak without arousing a reaction of him, he set the full force of his attention on Meg.

“Truly, you must have been terrified when the ship left the docks.”

“Not at all,” Meg said. “I was a little bit scared, it’s true, but mostly I was excited. It’s not often that we get to face new experiences and I was more than grateful for the chance.”

“You truly are a fascinating woman, Miss Masters.” Mr. Milton leaned forwards on the table, almost as if he wanted to look at her more closely. “You made that long journey all by yourself and came to the unknown with cheerfulness. One has to wonder why. Were you planning perhaps on snatching a husband with a title?”

“Luc,” Mr. Novak admonished him.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Meg said, shaking her head. “But I did plan on learning and seeing as much as I could. Experiences are very important for a writer, I think.”

She surprised herself by letting those words out of her mouth. She hadn’t admitted to anyone, not even to Mr. Novak, that had been the true reason behind her coming to England.

“You write then?” Mr. Milton asked, arching an eyebrow with interest.

“On occasion. I scribble,” Meg said, feeling her cheeks burning. “There are many great poets that I admire and that I’m sure I could never aspire to emulate.”

“You’re being modest, I’m sure,” Mr. Milton replied with a laugh. “You’re a true bluestocking by the looks of it.”

Meg blinked at him, unsure of what he meant and turned her head to Mr. Novak, waiting for an explanation. Her employer had been silently eating for the past few minutes, not intervening in the conversation at all and even now, when Meg wasn’t sure if she had been insulted or not, he clearly wasn’t inclined to participate.

“It means a very intelligent woman,” Mr. Milton explained. “As it is clear that you are.”

“Oh,” Meg muttered, again feeling how her face burned hot. How many times in one night was this man going to get her to blush? “Well, thank you very much.”

“I would gladly escort you to some salons where I’m sure you will fit right in,” Mr. Milton continued. “You might find them fascinating and meet a lot of people that can match your intellect…”

“I would have to protest,” said Mr. Novak, quietly. “Those places aren’t adequate for ladies since…”

“You are too much of a pedant to understand their appeal, cousin,” Mr. Milton replied, with a gesture of contempt towards him. “I happen to be a member of a salon where we have the liveliest debates and I am sure Miss Masters would be delighted to participate in them.”

“I would very much like to see them, yes,” Meg agreed, unable to contain her eagerness at the perspective of meeting other people with whom she could discuss her ideas and ambitions.

“There you have it,” Mr. Milton said, with a triumphant smile. “I’m sure you’re bored to death in the old manor dear. Oh, it’s a lovely place, though I haven’t been there since dear Uncle Charles and Aunt Naomi were alive, I must say. But it’s so isolated and rustic I’m sure you hardly find anyone to have a stimulant conversations with.”

“We have conversations often,” Mr. Novak pointed out.

His protest fell flat, however, because Meg and Mr. Milton had already moved on from the topic. She asked him if he was related to Reverend Milton (he wasn’t) and he asked her if it was too difficult for her to find books. When she mentioned she sometimes had to wait for weeks before Mr. Lafitte brought new ones, he offered to send her some or even to go to the manor and present them to her personally. Meg was very much on board with that idea.

The clock stroke eleven on the hallway.

“Oh, look at the time! I didn’t mean to take up that much of your evening.”

“Not at all. It was wonderful to meet you. Please, allow me to walk you to the door.”

Mr. Milton said a brief goodbye to Mr. Novak and then, without her prompting him in any way, he grabbed Meg’s arm as they walked towards the exit. She supposed she should be indignant that he took such liberties with her, but in truth, she was too charmed by him to try and stop him. The warmth of his hand over her arm sent another shiver down her spine.

“Well, this has been truly surprising,” he commented.

“How so?”

“I came here to pay a visit to Hannah, maybe have some fun at Castiel’s expense,” Mr. Milton explained. “Instead, I had the unexpected pleasure of meeting you.”

Meg was still intrigued and fascinated, but she had got used to his charm enough to smirk back at him, instead of only blushing like a teenage girl looking at a handsome boy for the first time.

“It has been wonderful,” she agreed. “You’re right, I usually don’t have the chance of having such an enjoyable talk.”

She felt a stab of guilt as soon as she said that. She did, after all, enjoy her chats with Mr. Novak very much.

“I’m very glad I could keep you entertained,” Mr. Milton replied. They were at the door already and a servant brought him his coat and his hat. He put them on slowly, as if he wanted to prolong that moment just a little more.

“Well…” Meg started, but he didn’t let her finish: he grabbed her hand and once again left a kiss on her knuckles, this one even longer than the one before. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he did.

“I await our next encounter eagerly. Good night, Miss Masters.”

And with those whispered words, almost as if they were a secret, he left the house.

Meg remained in the hall for a moment, trying to collect herself. Her heart was pounding hard again and her legs were shaking when she tried to take a step, but her head was almost floating. She was giddy and euphoric. She had never met a man like that, no one had ever disarmed her with such ease before. He had praised her intellect and expressed interest in her writing. He had treated her like an equal, without the condescending tone of Mr. Johnson or the careful approach of Mr. Novak, like he knew she could handle whatever topic he could bring up. It had been both refreshing and exhilarating and oh, God, she needed to write about it. She needed to try and get her thoughts in order.

“Are you retiring for the night, Miss Masters?” Mr. Novak asked, startling her.

He was standing near the stairs and looking at her with something indecipherable in his eyes. Meg couldn’t tell if it was irritation or disappointment and she couldn’t bring herself to care about it.

“If you don’t mind. It is rather late.”

“No, of course not. You’re free to do as you please.”

Meg had the impression there was some undercurrent to his words that she wasn’t getting, but she didn’t care to try to understand it either. She practically flew upstairs and closed the door behind her before opening her journal and writing all about the fascinating gentleman she’d just met.

* * *

Claire, Hael and Samandriel all looked exhausted but happy when they showed up for breakfast the following morning. Mr. Johnson also seemed like he hadn’t slept nearly as much as he needed to, but unlike the younger ones, he was in a terrible mood for it. Hannah was the only one who seemed fresh and composed as she sipped from her cup and told Meg and Castiel all the details of the ball.

“It was a wonderfully joyous occasion. Claire danced with several boys…”

“Half of them stepped on my toes,” Claire commented, and Hael and Samandriel giggled at the memory.

“And she made several new friends, isn’t that right?”

“We’ve been invited to so many places!” Hael gushed. “Oh, I wonder how we’ll have time for them all…”

“I’m sure you’ll find it if you organize yourselves properly,” Meg said. She was also in an extremely good mood. The lasting effects of having met a charming man, she guessed.

Hannah noticed, because of course she did.

“Anything happened while we were gone?” she asked.

“Luc was here,” Mr. Novak said. His voice was rougher than usual, so the information came out almost like and angry growl.

“Oh,” Hannah muttered. “What did he want?”

“To visit, apparently,” Mr. Novak informed her. “He presented himself unannounced and proceeded to remain here with no prompting on my part.”

Hannah let out a huff.

“As he is wont to do,” she commented, doing nothing to conceal her bitterness.

Despite the mist of happiness surrounding Meg’s mind, she couldn’t help but to notice the hostility of the two cousins towards Mr. Milton.

“Is there anything wrong with Mr. Milton visiting?” she asked, a little surprised.

“I would prefer it if he did when we were actually here,” Mr. Johnson said. “But luckily the children weren’t here.”

“I wish I was, though,” Hael intervened, with a little frown at her father. “I happen to think Uncle Luc is a very interesting person.”

“As do I,” Meg added.

Hannah and Mr. Novak exchanged a look while Mr. Johnson groaned on his cup of tea.

“I am going back to bed,” he announced.

Samandriel and Claire followed his example, but Hannah and Hael insisted on staying downstairs. They did some needlework in their private room while Meg read. Not long had passed, however, when Hael’s head fell heavily on his chest and the needle slid from her fingers. Hannah gently picked up and left it on the table before moving her chair so she could sit closer to Meg.

“I’m sorry if we seemed a little forceful earlier,” she told her, whispering so she wouldn’t disturb her daughter’s slumber. “You see, Luc isn’t bad. He’s just… inconsiderate.”

Meg crooked an eyebrow. She was surprised to hear Hannah talking like that about a person that also happened to be her relative.

“I found him exceptionally charming.”

“He is.” Hannah nodded. “And he knows he is. He thinks that charm, however, gives him the right to say or do anything he pleases, even when he might hurt some people’s sensitivities.”

Meg still didn’t see anything particularly wrong with that. She too was prone to get in trouble for speaking her mind. It was a character defect, but she believed there were worse traits to be had.

“Last year, for example, when Castiel wrote us all too tell us about Claire’s arrival and request our advice, Luc had a most unfortunate response,” Hannah continued. “He told him he should send Claire to an orphanage.”

Meg blinked at her, a little horrified despite herself.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything offensive by it.”

“Well, he said he just meant that he didn’t think Castiel could take care of Claire by himself,” Hannah explained. “But we couldn’t believe he would be that inconsiderate to one of his own nieces and Jimmy’s daughter.”

Meg didn’t say anything to that. Presented out of context, the suggestion seemed heartless, but Mr. Milton had been right to assess that Mr. Novak didn’t have the capacity to care for an educate a young lady like Claire. The string of governesses that had come before her was evidence enough of that. And of course, she couldn’t believe Luc meant Claire should be abandoned to her own devices entirely. Certainly, it wasn’t as terrible as Hannah had made it seem initially.

“Please, don’t comment this to the girls,” Hannah added. “We don’t want them to think ill of any member of the family. We know how important that sort of relationships are.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Meg promised.

She thought that would be the end of the conversation, but Hannah grabbed her hand and squeezed it before she could turn her attention back to her book.

“And above all,” she added, “please, be careful with him. You wouldn’t be the first woman to fall under Luc’s spell only to end up disillusioned.”

Meg was a little annoyed. Before, she had thought Hannah was being kinder than her than she really deserved for being just her niece’s governess. But now she was beginning to think Hannah just had a bad habit of meddling into other people’s affairs and give her opinion even when nobody had requested it.

“Don’t worry about me,” Meg told her, smiling despite it all. “I’m sure I’ll be able to take care of myself.”

She saw Luc Milton again less than a week later. Claire and Hael had been invited for tea at Mrs. Peterson’s house. Her daughter Magda, a girl about the same age as Claire, and her son Elijah had apparently both taken to the girls during the ball. Mrs. Peterson, however, was a little cold in her reception.

“Of course, I don’t think people should spend so much time in such frivolous activities,” she said when the children started talking about the dance. “I think it’s far more important that they attend to their spiritual duties and spend more time in silent reflection.”

“But then how would we meet new people, mother?” Elijah asked.

Mrs. Peterson pursed her lips and drank her tea without replying.

Her house reflected her life philosophy closely. It was austere and almost unwelcoming in how little it was decorated, unlike the Johnsons house that had memorabilia from all the places where Mr. Johnson travelled for business. Her family, too, was a little lackluster: Mr. Peterson seemed like a kind enough man, but Meg wouldn’t know, since he hadn’t said a word except to greet them and let his wife dominate the conversation from them on. Elijah was pale and wore his blonde hair in a very unflattering hairdo, while Magda seemed painfully shy, looking at her shoes and answering in a very low tone of voice whenever someone addressed her directly. Meg couldn’t help but to wonder what she could possibly have in common with two spirited girls as Claire and Hael, and by the way they were exchanging looks and gulping their tea, she figured they were wondering the same thing.

“Youth these days are very disrespectful,” Mrs. Peterson continued complaining. “Don’t you agree, Miss Masters? Are they any better in America?”

Meg was a little taken aback by the question. Mrs. Peterson had all but ignored her since they had arrived, but then again, that seemed to be the attitude she had towards everyone and everything.

“I… suppose,” Meg said, carefully. Mrs. Peterson surely couldn’t ignore the fact she was much younger and therefore wouldn’t agree with her sanctimonious opinion, but she made an effort to be as diplomatic as possible. “I think the actions of the younger generation are bound to scandalize that of their parents. It’s the way human progress is made.”

Mrs. Peterson frowned deeply at the words “human progress”, as if Meg had just blasphemed in front of her.

“Perhaps. But too much progress in too little time can’t be good for the soul,” she insisted. “And what are we, but the souls that we carry inside?”

Meg didn’t reply to that assertion. Her faith was something that she kept close to her chest. She went to church, of course, and tended to the sermons and had Bible passages memorized, but if she interrogated herself, deep down, she found God to be as distant and indifferent to her as the stars above. Of course, she was sure expressing such an opinion out loud would instantly brand her a pariah in the house and despite how uncomfortable it all seemed to be, she didn’t want to cost Claire any friendships.

“Well…” she started, but luckily she didn’t have to continue. A maid knocked on the door and walked inside, carrying a platter with a card in it. Mr. Peterson read it and raised his eyebrow.

“One Lucas Milton,” he commented, “requests to join us for tea.”

“Oh, Uncle Luc!” Hael said, her blue eyes lightning up.

Mrs. Peterson was clearly not as amused as her husband.

“It’s most rude to show up without announcing himself first! I don’t believe…”

“Oh, don’t be so uptight, woman,” Mr. Peterson replied, curtly. “Tell him to come on in.”

Mrs. Peterson scoffed, clearly disagreeing, and turned her face away when Mr. Milton walked into the tea room.

“Good afternoon,” Luc Milton said, again with that bright smile that had made Meg’s heart flutter the first time she’d met him. “I must apologize for my untimely arrival to your home, Mr. Peterson. I went to my cousin’s house to visit my lovely nieces, but I was informed they have come to you.”

Mr. Peterson got up from his seat to greet him, as did Hael.

“Hello, Uncle Luc,” she greeted him, as Luc grabbed her hand and quickly kissed it.

“Dear, it’s been too long,” he said, but his immediately moved towards Claire. “And you must be Jimmy’s daughter.”

Claire looked at Meg in search of a cue, and after she nodded, the girl stood up and offered her hand to Luc as well.

“I am,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you and I’m sorry you had to chase us here. If we’d known you were coming…”

“Oh, you have nothing to apologize for!” Luc assured her. “I heard through that your debut was a major success, so of course you’re receiving invitations left and right. I wouldn’t have expected any less.”

Claire wasn’t usually susceptible to compliments, especially if she suspected they were insincere. That was why it surprised Meg a little that her cheeks turned pink at Luc’s words.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. She realized what she was doing, cleared her throat and spoke clearly: “My aunt and my governess made sure that I was prepared.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely Miss Masters!” Mr. Milton exclaimed, turning his intense grey eyes towards Meg. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Did he hold on to his hand for a little longer than he had to? Did he looked at her in the eye for just a bit too long? Meg wasn’t sure, she couldn’t be, but again her chest and the pit of her stomach were set ablaze just by his very presence. She lamented not having her fan with her once she sat down again.

Of course, it could be that Mr. Milton simply had that effect on women. After briefly shaking Elijah’s hand, he turned his attention to Magda, and the poor girl could barely string a sentence together. Even the rigid and pious Mrs. Peterson, as angry as she had been for his sudden appearance, ended up smiling once he complimented her “exquisite home” and how well-behaved her children were.

“Why, thank you, kind sir!” she said, and if Meg hadn’t just spent several hours hearing her pontificate about how uncouth that behavior was, she would’ve sworn the good old woman was about to burst into giggles. “I make very sure that Magda had an excellent education…”

Mr. Milton didn’t speak to Meg directly while the tea lasted, but she thought she caught him many times glancing in her direction. It could also had been just Mr. Milton’s natural intensity and charisma: he dominated the conversation for the rest of the afternoon and got Mr. Peterson and Elijah to agree to many of his points. Later, she would struggle to remember what those points were, exactly, but Mr. Milton had expressed them with such conviction and eloquence that she’d be hard-pressed to disagree with them.

“Now, if I may have another moment of boldness, I was going to invite my nieces to a carriage ride through Hyde Park,” Mr. Milton said once the tea was done. “It’s a beautiful spring day and they should enjoy the fresh air. I wouldn’t want their friend to feel excluded, however, so if Mr. Peterson would allow Magda to join us as well…”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mrs. Peterson said, suddenly apprehensive. “It is getting a little late and I wouldn’t want to…”

“Let the girl have some fun,” Mr. Peterson interrupted her.

Mrs. Peterson’s lip quivered and she glared at Magda, clearly expecting her to say that she didn’t want to come along. The poor girl was extremely conflicted: she looked at both her parents alternatively and then at her friends, like she was begging for someone to intervene on her behalf and make the choice for her. Meg took pity of her.

“I will be chaperoning the girls, if I may,” she said. “You will have nothing to worry about.”

Mrs. Peterson clearly didn’t trust the American governess any more than she trusted the rest of the world, but she finally relented. Magda seemed like she was walking in a dream as they helped her put on her coat, like she couldn’t quite believe that a handsome gentleman had invited her for a carriage ride and that her mother had consented for her to go. Once they were outside and away from Mrs. Peterson restricting influence, however, she become a lot more animated and even smiled at the jokes Claire and Hael exchanged with one another.

“Oh, you have to see the birds at the park!”

“I live in the countryside, Hael. I see and hear the birds every single morning!”

“But those are different!” Hael protested.

“Oh, because they’re birds from London?”

“Girls, don’t walk so fast!” Meg scolded them, but Mr. Milton put his hand on her forearm to prevent her from catching up to them.

“Let them,” he said, with a smile of amusement upon his face. “They have the spirit of the youth and I’m of the opinion they should let it fly freely.”

Meg looked at him closely. She wasn’t that much older than the girls, but she supposed, in a way, he was correct. They were very young still, they had no more concerns in the world than wearing pretty dresses and going to their dances and dinners.

“Once they are settled with a suitable husband, they will certainly have time to walk slow and be less rowdy,” Mr. Milton said.

“Or when the have to make a living on their own,” Meg pointed out. “I certainly have very little time for rowdiness these days.”

Mr. Milton was amused by her correction.

“Yes, of course. I have talked to Mr. Crowley, by the way. He is the owner of the salons I frequent the most, a most wonderful place for conversation. I told him about your writing and how it’s endlessly fascinating.”

“You haven’t even read anything I’ve written!” Meg protested, but deep down, her stomach was fluttering. She wasn’t immune to praise, it would seem, and especially praise like that of a gentlemen like Mr. Milton.

“Then we must correct that at once,” he replied. “You should come to Mr. Crowley’s salon with me, and read some of your work there!”

“Oh, but that…” Meg said and stumbled through her words before Mr. Milton said:

“Are you afraid to read in front of a public, my dear Miss Masters?”

Meg silently cursed herself. She wasn’t a naïve debutante who needed to be introduced into society. She needed to make a name for herself and the opportunity Mr. Milton was giving her could prove invaluable. She could get in touch with other writers, likeminded people that would help hone her craft, or even a publisher willing to give her a chance.

“No,” she said, raising her chin. “I think that would be most excellent. When should we go?”

“Well, any evening you’re not needed to chaperone my niece, of course,” Mr. Milton replied. “Just send the word and I will be there to pick you up. I bet you will have a lot more fun than having supper with just my cousin anyway. Castiel isn’t exactly the soul of the party, is he?”

Meg wanted to protest. Despite how uncomfortable things were between them at the moment, she still felt compelled to defend Mr. Novak.

“He is reserved, but that doesn’t mean he is unintelligent…”

“Oh, I never meant to imply that,” Mr. Milton replied, quickly. “Of course I know just how smart my cousin is. I’m just postulating that in a lively gathering where he might not be well-acquainted with everyone, he might come off as… slightly awkward.”

“Maybe we should invite him to come over with us to your friend’s salon,” Meg suggested. “He might surprise us both.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized just futile her hope that Mr. Novak would become a social butterfly were. There was a very good chance that he would just outright refuse. However, it was only polite to extend the invitation to him, wasn’t it?

Mr. Milton seemed skeptical and, by the way his mouth twisted to the side, unhappy with the suggestion.

“Of course he would be welcome to join us, if he wants,” he said, in the end. “But my darling Miss Masters, I hope I will have the chance to enjoy the pleasure of your company privately soon enough.”

His words sent a whirlwind of thoughts through Meg’s head that she had no time to calm: they have arrived to the park and the girls were already swirling around a carriage, beckoning for them to get closer.

“Isn’t she pretty?” Claire asked, pointing at the mare that would be pulling from them. “Her name is Bells! Magda, come pat her!”

“I don’t know…” Magda replied, with her usual shyness, but she did end giving her a pat on the muzzle.

Mr. Milton paid the coachman and he gently extended his hand to get the girls up, one by one.

“You’re in luck, I was about to call it a day,” he commented, as he climbed on his seat. “But you get the last ride of the day to enjoy the wonderful sunset in the park, aye?”

He was right about it being wonderful. The paths were almost empty at that hour, and with the sun falling in the distance, they got to take it all in slowly: the birds chirping in the trees, the scent of the blooming flowers at the edge. The girls, huddled up in one seat, gushed and pointed at squirrels and deer they saw in the distance, letting squeals of delight that Meg supposed she should have corrected, but didn’t.

For one thing, because the girls’ enthusiasm was a beautiful thing to see and she was not about to quash it just yet. Mr. Milton was right, they would have plenty of time to become bitter old matrons with nothing exciting going on for them except the town gossip.

And for another thing, she was too distracted by the touch of Mr. Milton’s hand on her the entire ride.

* * *

“And we saw the most amazing sunset! I told Claire that she needs to paint it. Oh, Miss Masters, can we go to the park one afternoon to pain? Can we go, please? We can invite Magda and Wendy…”

“I’m sure we can arrange something,” Miss Masters said. “I don’t see why no, ow the weather is getting so nice.”

The girls and Samandriel continued their chatter, not noticing or not caring to notice the tension around the dinner table that had started the moment they have pronounced Luc’s name and continued to grow as it was revealed he’d interrupted the tea party and taken them out on an impromptu excursion.

Castiel wasn’t happy about it, but he couldn’t express it without undermining Miss Masters’ authority as the girls’ chaperone. Once glance in Hannah’s direction indicated him that, though she smiled and inquired about the girls’ day, she was just as uncomfortable as him: the edge of her lips was forced and the way she grabbed her silverware, with a little more force than necessary, revealed her true feelings.

No one except him noticed it.

He waited until the dinner over to have a word in private with her. He didn’t even need to open his mouth before she started ranting:

“It’s scandalous that he’s behaving this way!” she exclaimed, pacing around the room, agitated. “The girls are, of course, under the spell of this wonderful, amazing, magical uncle that shows up out of nowhere to whisk them away on adventures, but Meg should know better!"

Castiel kept quiet at this assertion. He had seen the way Miss Masters looked at his cousin, her smitten smile and her shy glances, so unlike her. Yes, he was aware Luc was handsome and had that effect on women, but he didn’t expect someone as smart as Miss Masters to be so easily swayed by him.

Or perhaps he was hurting because she would never look at him the same way. Whenever she cast a glance in his direction, she expressed the same warm and she would to Claire or to Hannah. Less than that, since Castiel had let his feelings for her be known. She hadn’t said she despised him for them, but since then, she had noticed a hardness in her look that wasn’t there before, an… indifference. She looked at him the same way she would a dog or a piece of furniture.

That was worse than if she hated him altogether.

But of course, he couldn’t let his jealousy get in the way. He had made this mistake with Meg before. It was obvious she didn’t care, and so, he had to act as if he didn’t either.

“Would you like me to talk to her?”

“Yes, please,” Hannah replied, shaking her head. “She needs to be warned. I’m not saying Luc is back to his old behavior again, but she needs to set an example on what is appropriate for Claire and Hael.”

Castiel wholeheartedly agreed. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to broach the subject of Luc to Miss Masters.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. The following morning, while they waited for Claire to finished getting dressed so they could go all go together to a shopping trip, she brought him herself.

“He has said that you may come with us as well,” she said, after she was done explaining about the salon. “And if you want my honest opinion, I believe you should. You have done nothing since we’ve arrived but brood and hide yourself away in this house. You barely even interact with the people who live here. If you wanted to lock yourself away from the world, you might as well have stayed in Heavenly Manor.”

Castiel sat in silence for a moment. His stomach knotted at her words, but he hoped none of it would show on his face.

“I did not, in fact, ask your opinion,” he said. “Unlike Claire, I have not come here with the objective of spending my time socializing and going to parties. I have businesses that need attending and I can’t spare any time for frivolities.”

He knew immediately he should have held his tongue. Miss Masters was taken aback, her eyebrows shooting up and her eyes wide and surprised. He had never spoken to her so harshly before.

“Forgive me,” he said immediately, lowering his eyes in contrition. “I did not mean… my temper got the better of me. Of course, it is important that Claire gets to know… and of course, as you’ve made it clear many times, it’s not my place to stop you from coming and going as you please during your free time.”

He was mumbling and not even sure what he was saying anymore, so he went quiet. Miss Masters said nothing for a moment.

“No, you’re the one who should forgive me,” she stated, after a moment. “I forgot my place.”

Castiel rose his eyes, but she was already standing up and heading for the door. His mind raced: he couldn’t let her leave the room like this, he couldn’t let her think that he thought so little of her as to disregard her advice. She had to know that he cared for it, of course, that their friendship was precious to him even if he had soiled it with his unwanted advances.

But his tongue remained immobile and a moment later, Miss Masters had left the room.

Castiel stayed where he was, his heart swelling in his chest again. This time, however, it didn’t feel pleasant at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Not two days later, the entire family was invited to the Hanscum’s house. According to Hannah, it was because Wendy, their daughter, had taken a fancy to Samandriel and was hoping for a marriage proposal to come soon.

“I’m afraid Samandriel may be even more clueless than his uncle,” she commented, with a melodramatic sigh. “I will have to tell Mr. Johnson to have a talk with him about how it’s inappropriate to encourage a lady’s feelings if he is not willing to reciprocate them.”

Meg nodded absentmindedly and the moment she was left alone, she scribbled a quick note for Mr. Milton and sent it with the maid. The answer was just as quick: he would be picking her up soon after and taking her to Mr. Crowley’s salon.

Meg’s heart wouldn’t stop racing at the thought. This was what she had been waiting for, what she’d been wishing since Mr. Novak had announced he would be bringing her along for the season. She paced around the little room, smoothing over the creases of her dress over and over.

“Miss Masters, should we…?” Maddie the maid ask before there was a knock on the door.

Meg grabbed her gloves and her shawl and smiled at her. She was standing on the lobby even before Maddie opened the door and became all flustered when she realized who was at the other side of it.

“Oh, Mr. Milton…”

“I’m ready,” Meg said, stepping closer. She realized she had completely forgotten her manners and tried to ignore the way her face burned. “I mean, good night, Mr. Milton.”

Mr. Milton smiled at her, wished Maddie goodnight and extended his arm for Meg to grab it.

“What’s the rush, my dear?” he replied when she asked if they would be taking a carriage. “The night is warm, we can have a long walk…”

“I suppose you’re right,” Meg said, but she couldn’t hide her apprehension, because he leaned to look at her face and asked again:

“What is the matter?”

“Mr. Novak has made it very clear he doesn’t approve of me spending time with you or going to these places,” she admitted. “So I might… have gone behind this back tonight while he and the rest of our hosts are away.”

Mr. Milton chuckled.

“Very daring of you. But, my dear Miss Masters, you don’t need to be so apprehensive.”

“I don’t?”

“Is Mr. Novak your husband? Your father, your brother? Your guardian angel?” Mr. Milton asked. There was a biting tone in his words, a deep irony that could have been mean-spirited in someone who was even slightly less charming.

“He is my employer and if he were to dismiss me from his service…”

“You are a resourceful woman,” Mr. Milton argued. “You would find a way to make the most of your situation and, of course, if it comes to that, you will count with my absolute help. So don’t you worry about a thing and take a stroll with me.”

Meg was too shaken by his assertion to really argue with him any longer. Knowing Mr. Novak, it was very likely that he wouldn’t dismiss her from his service, and just as Mr. Milton had said, she would eventually find something to do with herself if that was the case. But she would’ve been sad to let go of Heavenly Manor and its rolling fields, to leave behind Claire, Hannah and yes, even Mr. Novak, as awkward as things were between them.

The night was young and beautiful, however, just as Mr. Milton had said, and frankly, she wouldn’t enjoy if she kept worrying about things that were out of her control. So she let Mr. Milton guided her through the half-empty streets, under the soft glow of the gas lamps, while they joked and talked and he told her who she would be likely to meet at this encounter.

“Some of the greatest minds of our times, true freethinkers that I’m sure will be delighted to meet someone that could keep a conversation with them. Oh, and of course, I heard rumors that Lady Van Allen will be present. Have you heard of her?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“She recently published a book with her verses. It was lauded in a lot of circles. I think you would enjoy getting to know her. Perhaps she can give you some advice on how to get your own writing…”

Meg couldn’t help her enthusiasm at the idea and though she enjoyed the stroll, Mr. Milton’s strong hand in her arm, the rumor of the carriages and the people heading home, she started walking faster.

Mr. Crowley’s home was still in the Johnson’s neighborhood, but it was significantly bigger. There was light in the windows and a faint music that grew louder as they approached it.

“You didn’t tell me this was a ball,” Meg commented, suddenly feeling shamefully underdressed. “I would have put on my dancing shoes.”

Mr. Milton laughed, like he always did even though Meg wasn’t sure she’d said something all that funny.

“Crowley just likes having music to entertain his guests. You’ll see soon enough.”

A servant opened the door for them and Meg’s pulse quickened. The house was sumptuous, that was true, and it was adorned from top to bottom with paintings, tapestries, statues and carpets, like the owner couldn’t stand to see one inch bereft of an ornament. It made her think back to the austerity of Heavenly Manor, where there was maybe a painting or two to break the monotony of its walls, but nothing compared to this.

It was almost… Meg didn’t want to be rude, but it almost looked vulgar.

She didn’t express those thoughts out loud, but Mr. Milton sighed as if he’d read her mind.

“Crowley likes to display the art he has collected these years,” he explained. “It gives him a sense of… fullness, I would say.”

“Fullness is one way to describe it,” Meg said.

Mr. Milton this time full-on laugh at her comment and her cheeks burned at it. It was so refreshing to meet a man who didn’t want her to constantly hold back her tongue….

The servant that was guiding them opened the door to a little saloon where there what Meg quickly calculated to be about twenty people, all standing or sitting on chairs as a man played the piano. Nobody even moved to look at them, for everyone seemed entranced by the music, so the simply stood to the side.

Mr. Milton let his arm fall at the side when she let go of him. She tried to concentrate on the music, but she was acutely aware that his hand was grazing the skirt of her dress, his fingers grabbing at the fabric ever so delicately, like he couldn’t bare the idea of letting her go. She tried to focus on the music, but she was so acutely aware of his presence a few steps behind her, his burning gaze in the back of her skull, that she only realized the piece was over when the people around her burst into applause. She did the same, though she couldn’t have had an opinion on the quality of the music if anyone had asked her.

“Excellent, excellent!” said a short, brunette man as the applause died down. “Thank you, Mr. Frampton! Now that delightful interpretation is over, please, everyone, come to the dining room. The dinner will be served shortly. Lucas Milton!”

Mr. Milton moved to shake the man’s hand as soon as he reached their corner.

“Fergus, it’s great to see you.”

“I’m glad you accepted my invitation,” said Fergus Crowley. There was a trace of a Scottish accent in his voice, so faint that Meg thought that he had probably worked hard to eliminate it. “And who might this be?”

“Let me introduce you to the delightful Miss Marjorie Masters.”

Meg once again ignored the burning feeling in the pit of her stomach that was becoming habitual every time he praised her and extended her hand to their host.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crowley.”

“An American!” Mr. Crowley exclaimed, his eyes shining with amusement. “You sure know how to find the most interesting people, my friend.”

Meg wasn’t sure what exactly about her being American was so interesting, but she didn’t argue. She followed the two men into a diner as filled to the brim with art as the previous rooms and was soon sat between Mr. Milton and a blonde woman he introduced as the famed Lady Van Allen.

“It’s so nice to meet another writer!” she exclaimed when Mr. Milton mentioned what she did. “Anything I might have read of yours, dear?”

“Well…”

“Oh, I understand. A lot of women publish under name-de-plums,” Lady Van Allen said, winking at her with complicity. “My husband wanted me to do just that, but I refused. I believe in being proud of your own work!”

“I agree completely,” Meg said. She was both relieved and ecstatic, even though she really couldn’t put in much of a word.

Lady Van Allen was one of those people who enjoyed the sound of their own voice, because she spent the next hour while they dined going on and on about poets she admired and how they had informed her own verses. Meg tried to interject a question now and then without much success, but it didn’t really matter. Every time Lady Van Allen said something strange or ridiculous, Meg could just exchange a knowing look and a smirk with Mr. Milton. He made sure her cup was never empty through the meal and every now and then, he grazed her arm with his hand, as if to remind her that he was there as well.

Mr. Crowley then asked everyone to go back to the first room for a cup of coffee and Meg found the perfect excuse, through the crowd moving, to escape Lady Van Allen’s incessant dialogue.

“If her poetry is as verbose as she is, I am surprised they managed to publish it in one volume,” she whispered to Mr. Milton and he laughed once again.

“Her husband probably wanted her to use a pseudonym to save some face,” he admitted. “But at least she can give you some references of publisher who would be interested in purchasing your book.”

He found her an armchair and moved it for her as the servants passed around cups of strong, bitter coffee. Mr. Milton stood by her side and chatted with her and all the people that came to introduce themselves and talk to her. Apparently, the rumor had gone around that she was an American writer. Meg didn’t have the heart to correct them that she was actually a governess that scribbled sometimes and besides, she couldn’t deny the attention was very flattering.

“Yes, I have read Mrs. Rowson’s novel, and I didn’t care much for it if I’m being honest with you,” Meg told Mr. Frampton, the pianist. “I found it most patronizing.”

“You did?” asked Mr. Frampton, seemingly taking aback by her directness. “I thought it contained a very important lesson for young women…”

“Young women are never as naïve and helpless as that sort of novel makes them appear,” Meg argued. “And even if they are, then maybe they deserve to be cheated and abandoned.”

“You have a most harsh view of your sex, Miss Masters!” Mr. Frampton exclaimed, while Mr. Milton laughed again.

Meg was preparing to retort when the door opened again and the last person she expected to see sauntered in. Mr. Novak stepped inside and stopped, scanning the room, clearly looking for her. Meg straightened up in her armchair, startled. Had he come looking for her? Would he be angry that she had disobeyed him?

She exchanged a look with Mr. Milton and immediately chastised herself for her thoughts. Of course not. And even if he was angry, he had no right to be. That was his problem, not hers.

Crowley noticed Mr. Novak standing at the door and immediately stood up to shake his hands. They exchanged some pleasantries as Mr. Frampton commented:

“Isn’t that your cousin, Luc?”

“He is,” Mr. Milton said. There was no way of hiding the irritation in his voice. “And I fear he has come to disrupt the most pleasant evening we were having.”

“I won’t let him,” Meg said, decided.

She had no idea how she was going to do that and she had no time to figure it out, because Mr. Novak noticed them and headed straight towards them.

“Cousin,” he said. “Miss Masters.”

His voice sounded calm and composed, not a trace of anger in it. Then again, he was very good at concealing his thoughts and feelings.

“Castiel,” Mr. Milton said, none of his previous irritation apparent in his tone and the way he smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“If I recall correctly, Miss Masters invited me.”

“Oh, you’re acquainted with each other?” Mr. Frampton asked.

Meg shivered. If Castiel were to tell the truth —that she was a mere governess with strange aspirations instead of this clever, exotic writer everyone had taken her for— this could be the last time she was received in those rooms, the last time someone with a title like Lady Van Allen would condescend to speak to her.

Panic gripped at her throat in the few seconds of silence that followed, but Mr. Novak simply bowed his head and beckoned a servant to bring him another chair so he could join their circle.

“Yes, we have met,” he said, simply.

Meg sighed and hoped no one noticed. She felt silly now. Of course, Mr. Novak wouldn’t expose her. He was too much of a gentleman.

“I didn’t think you would come,” she said. “I was led to believe you had another commitment tonight.”

“I did, yes, but my nieces and nephew were soon entertained by their friends and you know how young people despise anything that could get in the way of their socializing and fun.”

“You speak as if you’re a hundred years old, cousin,” Mr. Milton ribbed at him. “You should lighten up now and then.”

“I will try to do so,” Mr. Novak replied, with his usual earnestness. “I’m sorry, I interrupted your conversation.”

“Oh, we were just discussing the merits of a little book called _Charlotte Temple_ ,” Mr. Frampton informed him, oblivious to the previous tension between them.

“My dear cousin probably hasn’t heard of it,” Mr. Milton commented. “Those types of novel are what he would classify as sentimental wastes of time…”

“I have, in fact,” Mr. Novak interrupted him.

“Really?” Meg asked, before she could stop herself. “I could never have imagined you having an interesting for that sort of stories.”

“I bought it along with other books to entertain myself in a long journey. I found it… an engaging read, though it filled me with melancholy.”

“How so?”

“I felt empathy for poor Charlotte and even for Mademoiselle La Rue,” Mr. Novak explained. “I felt they were harshly punished for their youthful indiscretions.”

“You don’t think they should have been?”

“I think instead of disdain and repulsion for those who make mistakes when they believe themselves to be in love, we need to be compassionate. Anyone can misstep when carried away by emotions.”

Meg felt her face burning but a second later, she realized he wasn’t saying because of his feelings towards her. He was talking about his brother, and how he had been rejected by his family. Of course, it made sense for him to think like that after he had forgiven Jimmy and taken his daughter in.

It was strange what literature could reveal from a person. She had accused him of being unfeeling and indifferent, but hearing him speak like this about those fictional characters made her realize she had been wrong. He felt things deeply, truthfully; he just wasn’t one to express them out loud.

She didn’t have much time to let that realization settle in, because Mr. Milton laughed out loud.

“Dear cousin, you have a feeble heart,” he determined. “I am in accordance with Miss Masters. I think if the girls in those novels are callow enough to fall for a man’s lies, then they deserve whatever fate befalls them.”

“I am somehow not surprised you think like that,” Mr. Novak said. There was a bitter note in his tone and the way Mr. Milton glared at him made Meg think there was an underlying meaning to that comment that she was missing.

But then Mr. Crowley asked Mr. Frampton to play another piece in the piano, more coffee was served and the conversation took other turns. Mr. Novak made no mention of wanting to leave, even though he participated very little and mostly sat on the armchair and nodded tiredly. When others started leaving, however, he walked with them to the door, apologized to Mr. Crowley for showing up late and followed Meg and Mr. Milton to the door to wait for a carriage.

“You will forgive me, my leg doesn’t allow for a walk, even one as short as this one.”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Milton said. He was still smiling, but Meg thought she saw some tension on the edges of his lips. “You and Miss Masters should go then. I have had a bit too much to drink and the night air will help my head.”

Meg hadn’t really seen him drink that much, so she figured it must have been an excuse. He didn’t want to deal with whatever Mr. Novak was going to tell her now, and frankly, she didn’t either, but she had little choice. Mr. Milton said his goodbyes to her with a kiss on her knuckles, so long and so hot that her knees weakened a little, and then he remained at the gate, watching as their carriage pulled away.

She was so entranced looking outside of the window that for a moment she forgot about the man quietly fuming at her side. Though, to be fair, he looked more tired than furious when she finally turned her attention towards him.

For a few seconds, they stared at each other without a word. Meg’s anxiety grew until she couldn’t hold her tongue back anymore.

“Aren’t you going to berate me?”

“As if you were a child who wasn’t responsible for her own actions?” Mr. Novak shook his head. “I can’t be mad at you for doing what you warned me you would do.”

Meg still wasn’t sure she could relax at those words.

“Why did you show up here, then?” she asked. “If it wasn’t because you were angry that I went out with Mr. Milton…”

“I’m not mad at you.”

Meg watched his face carefully.

“You’re mad at him,” she guessed. Mr. Novak made no attempt at denying it. “Are you jealous of him?”

“There is no reason for me to be,” he said, dryly. “But I am worried about you.”

“Worried?”

“Luc is clever and charming, but he has an inclination for… untoward behavior. In particular, when it comes to his interactions with beautiful women.”

Meg ignored the flattery in that comment.

“He has been nothing but a perfect gentleman to me. If I may speak to you frankly, I think your own feelings towards me are clouding your judgment when it comes to my friendship with him and turning it into something that isn’t.”

“You always speak to me frankly and I appreciate it,” Mr. Novak said. Still there was nothing of the frustration that she had expected. He just seemed exhausted. “And I cannot deny I’d had the same concerns as you, that my behavior is being guided by feelings that have been rejected and I should have put aside already.”

Meg shrunk on her seat, uncomfortable. She hated when he did this, when he expressed himself in such a clear way. He was still not trying to pay her a compliment or get her to agree to a marriage with him. He spoke about his love for her as if it was a matter of fact, something as inherit to him as his blue eyes or his dark hair.

“And it is not?” she asked, trying to hide her distress with indignation.

“No, but I understand why you would have no reason to believe that,” he admitted. “Please, believe that I want what’s best for you, though. I don’t want you to suffer and I don’t want you to be in any sort of danger. I would like to accompany you to these meetings in the future, if you insist in coming to them.”

“I thought you detested them.”

“I am not always comfortable with people I have only just met, yes. But perhaps is just a matter of growing familiar with them.”

Meg crossed her arms and leaned back on the carriage seat. She was very much aware of how childish that made her look, but she couldn’t help herself.

“No. If you’re only coming on my account, and I know that you will be uncomfortable, I would prefer if you didn’t.”

Mr. Novak closed his eyes for a moment and a sensation of guilt invaded Meg. She was rejecting him, again, after all he wanted to do was to show her his affection and his care for her.

But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? He didn’t need to do that. The boundaries between their relationship as employer and employee, as friends, as someone who had professed his love for her, were blurry and she didn’t know how to make them clearer.

A second later, he opened his eyes again, and his stoic expression was back, though Meg thought he looked a little sadder than before. A little more tired.

“Very well. I will respect your wishes and won’t come unless I am invited,” he said. “But… promise me, please that you will be careful around my cousin.”

“I’ll promise it if it will give you peace of mind,” Meg conceded. “Though, again, Mr. Milton has shown me nothing but respect.”

Mr. Novak sighed and nodded. Meg was glad he was letting it go, because she was starting to feel like they were talking circles around each other. She was not as relieved, though, when he changed the topic:

“You never mentioned to me that you were a writer.”

She scoffed and looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way her cheeks grew redder.

“I dabble, yes. Is that so strange?”

“Not at all. It does explain many things about you and why you hold literature in such regards.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me it’s not an adequate pastime or aspiration for a young woman of my position?”

“Miss Masters, I think we’ve established we’re past the point where you would listen to me if I were to express such views,” Mr. Novak said. “I am trying to know you better; that is all.”

The carriage stopped in front of the Johnson’s home. Mr. Novak maneuvered his cane to get out of the door as fast as he could. Meg knew it was rude, but she stepped down through the other door without waiting for him to come to her aid. He gave her a quizzical look but commented nothing of it as he paid the driver.

The house was silent when they stepped in. It was well past two in the morning, as the clock on the sitting room indicated. Meg had completely lost the notion of time.

“I think I will retire now.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Novak. It sounded like he had something else to add, but he simply murmured a quick: “Good night.”

Meg climbed the stairs in the dark without looking back at him. She didn’t know why she was so irritated at him still. He had done nothing wrong. She had invited him, he had showed up as he had every right to do. He hadn’t chastised her for her behavior and even admitted, once again, that he had no right to do that in the first place, and so he wouldn’t.

It was the constant worrying, she concluded, that Mr. Milton would do something inappropriate while spending time with her. That was what had irritated. He could claim all he wanted that his actions weren’t motivated by jealousy, but what other reason could it have? He had said Mr. Milton had acted “untoward” with other women, but he had cited no examples of such a thing, so Meg had no reason to believe him. And if he were to display feelings towards Meg… well, what right did Mr. Novak have to protest to that, after he had done the same thing? What right would he have to protest if Meg were to accept those advances? Advances that hadn’t happened yet at all, truth be told.

She was so lost in thought that she barely realized there were two figures waiting for her in her room. They were whispering, but shushed each other quickly when Meg came in with a dim lamp in her hand.

“Girls? What are you doing here?”

Claire and Hael looked at her with guilt, but also excitement in their identical blue eyes that looked black in the shadows.

“We just wanted to know where you had gone,” Claire said. “Aunt Hannah mentioned you had received an invitation from Uncle Luc.”

“Did you go to a salon?” Hael asked, with the quiet excitement of someone who knew the only way she could visit such places was vicariously through other people. “Did you see anyone famous?”

Meg set the lamp in her nightstand and knelt on the bed with the girls. She was reminded of her years of youth, when she would visit some childhood friends or they would visit her for several days and they would spend the night whispering in confidence instead of sleeping as they should.

“I met a pianist and a writer,” Meg said. She might have exaggerated a little how impressive these people were and how intelligent the conversations they maintained, but the girls were so delighted to hear of her “adventures” she couldn’t help it.

“I wish Uncle Luc would take us places,” Hael sighed. “I bet he knows all the best parties and balls, everyone he knows sound so interesting!”

“Much more interesting than a dinner where everyone was paying attention to Samandriel so he would propose to their daughter,” Claire commented, bitterly.

“Don’t be rude to your hosts, Claire,” Meg chastised her.

But there was an idea.

* * *

Mr. Milton had no issue with what she proposed they did in the future, though Hannah and Mr. Novak had to be persuaded by the girls begging them over and over to let them come.

“Please, he said we could see some exotic animals!”

“Please, uncle, I want to spend a day in the park!”

“We haven’t gone to a ball on ages and I want to put on my new dancing shoes!”

It was clear their parents and guardians would have preferred it if they’d stay home or if they only visited the friends and acquaintances they approved of. Perhaps they could have refused one of them, but the two joining efforts and begging day and night was too much for even the strongest of wills.

“My girl, shut up already!” Hannah would exclaim, exasperated. “Very well, you may go, but Miss Masters has to come with you!”

Occasionally, Samandriel was made to go as well, but the lad was even shyer than his uncle and could have done very little against his cousin and his sister. The girls were usually delighted with whatever new adventure or game their Uncle Luc proposed to them, entertaining themselves with such ease that Meg and Mr. Milton could talk in peace as they walked peacefully twenty steps behind them.

“If your book is rejected, there are always publishing houses who will accept to print it if you cover the costs. I would be more than happy to lend you the necessary investment…”

“The money is not the problem,” Meg assured him. “I have saved up enough of my salary that I could cover them, I think, without any help.”

“Then why do you hesitate?”

“You would think me foolish.”

“My dear, never!”

He had those sorts of expression sometimes, and he would sometimes apologize for them. Lately, he didn’t, even though Meg was sure she blushed whenever he spoke to her like that. It sounded almost natural, coming from him, not like something that was wrong or strange in any way. He simply got carried away and revealed, sometimes, that he might have feelings that Mr. Novak would certainly consider “dangerous”.

Meg did her best to let them go. She didn’t want to get her hopes up and she reminded herself over and over that she hadn’t come to England to find a husband. But she did wish, sometimes, that he would speak to her clearly about what his intentions towards her were.

“I would like the assurance that my book is good enough,” she explained, ignoring the fluttering of her stomach at his pet names. “I have read Lady Van Allen’s poems. They are not…” She bit her tongue before she said something impolite, but Mr. Milton understood her anyway.

“They’re terrible,” he said, outright. “They’re mostly drivel and tedium.”

Meg stifled a laugh.

“They’re extremely banal. Love poems for someone who married a rich man that could give her everything, including for her poems to be published. No one told her that she could have done better.” She shook her head. “I want my book to be accepted, for someone to tell me that it’s good enough.”

“You don’t believe it is?”

“I do, but I’m sure Lady Van Allen thought the same thing of her poems.”

“You could never write anything as bad as her,” Mr. Milton promised her. “Your sensibilities made you a much more talented woman than she is and what you just said shows how humble and capable of improvement you are.”

Meg tried not to look at him in the eye. She didn’t want him to see that she was smiling.

“Miss Masters, come on!” Claire urged her from the distance. “We’ve found the perfect spot!”

Hael had already settle the blanket and the basket and the two girls were ready to have their lunch in the open spring air.

Meg wished she didn’t have to hurry up to join them. She could walk and talk with Mr. Milton for hours and hours, but they only had these stolen moments and the nights where she came with him to Lord Crowley’s residence. He flattered her shamelessly, he bounced her ideas off of her like she was his equal. She didn’t want to make comparisons with Mr. Novak, but talking to this other man had made her realize just how patronizing he could be in his opinions, even if he tried to give the appearance of neutrality and propriety. Mr. Milton was never ashamed of his feelings and opinions, never afraid to say what he thought out loud.

She appreciated that of him the more time she spent with Mr. Novak.

“Uncle, can we go?” Claire asked him during dinner time.

“Go?” Mr. Novak repeated, raising the eyes from his food, which he had been staring at for the last five minutes without contributing a word to the conversation. “Go where?”

“The theater!” Hael said, almost unable to contain a squeal of enthusiasm. “Oh, please, daddy, please! Say we can go! Uncle Luc said they were going to show a most wonderful play!”

“An opera! From Paris!”

“With singers and music!”

“And all the costumes! Please, say we can go?”

“Dear heavens,” Hannah muttered. “Has he invited you to go?”

“He has a private box!”

“Please, please, can we go?”

“Claire,” Meg said, curtly. She had, in other occasions, let Claire and Hael harass their guardians to convince them to let them (and by extension, her) more time with Mr. Milton without any shred of remorse. But the expression in Mr. Novak’s face warned her that this might have been a step too far.

It was barely noticeable: a quiver on the edge of his lips, the way his shoulders had tensed up, suddenly. Meg remembered all too late that he despised theater because Claire’s mother had been an actress. But that had happened years ago, right? It wasn’t the girls’ fault. They just wanted to see a play, what was so wrong with it?

She was preparing to argue when Mr. Novak spoke again:

“I… don’t see why not,” he said. “In fact, I think we should all go along.”

“Really?” Hannah asked, over the exclamations of delight of the girls.

“Yes. I haven’t seen a play in years. It could be… enlightening.”

Neither Hannah nor Meg asked him what he supposed he could be enlightened about.

“We might not all fit in Luc’s private box, though, so we might need to purchase other accommodations,” Mr. Novak said. “Joseph, do you agree?”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” Mr. Johnson muttered. He had been snapped out of a deep thought, probably regarding numbers and the bank. “I think… what were we talking about?”

His son caught him up to speed with the topic of conversation while the girls still fawned and wondered what would be an appropriate outfit to wear for a night at the opera.

“How is he able to afford a private box?” Hannah wondered out loud.

“Well, he is a gentleman of good fortune,” Meg said. She found it strange that Hannah would ask that. Her entire family was wealthy, why wouldn’t Luc be as well?

Hannah made a strange sound and if Meg didn’t know her as well as she did, she would have thought it was a scoff.

“Hannah,” Mr. Novak said, on what sounded a lot like an admonishing tone. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll just be happy to join him.”

And that was the end of the discussion.

Meg should have suspected it was all too easy.

The night of the play, Mr. Milton was already waiting for them at the door. He smiled while he helped Claire and Hannah step down from the carriage, but his face froze slightly when he saw that Mr. Novak, Hannah and Mr. Johnson, along with Samandriel, came right behind them.

“Cousins!” he exclaimed, kindly, however. “I wasn’t expecting you would come along! I don’t believe there’s enough space in my box…”

“That’s not a problem. Joseph, here, was kind enough to call one of his clients at the bank.”

“We have sittings downstairs,” Mr. Johnson explained. He sounded obfuscated with the entire business, like he wasn’t quite sure yet how Mr. Novak had managed to get him to agree.

“Ah, of course. Wouldn’t want to make things difficult for your old cripple leg,” Mr. Milton said, his eyes darting clearly towards Mr. Novak’s walking cane.

“Exactly. The girls and Samandriel can come to you to your box, though. I’m sure they will enjoy the play more from up there.”

Meg stared at him, baffled. Was that the reason he had insisted that they should come? So he could prevent her from sitting at Mr. Milton’s box? She thought he’d changed his behavior since that night at Lord Crowley’s salon, but it was obvious he was still trying to keep them apart, to “protect” her even though she didn’t need him to.

And the worst part was, she didn’t know how to protest without sounding entitled or rude or desperate to spend more time with Mr. Milton. Yes, the girls were the reason they were there, and it made sense for Samandriel to join them. Would she have to spend the entire night downstairs in the sitting area without being able to exchange a word with Mr. Milton?

“That’s not going to work for us,” said Mr. Milton, taking a step towards Meg. “I invited Miss Masters here, to join me up in my box and I wouldn’t want to go back on my word.”

Mr. Novak’s jaw clenched. He threw a glare at Meg, but she pretended not to notice it at all. They would have to have another long chat about how he was behaving after the play was over.

“You’re extremely kind,” she said, instead, smiling at Mr. Milton and offering him her hand.

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” Mr. Milton said, grabbing it. “I’m going to selfishly deprive you of Miss Masters’ company tonight.”

The theater’s doors opened and there was no more time to discuss. Meg didn’t even glance at Mr. Novak as the ushers guided them inside, down elegant corridors and carpeted stairs, but she did notice the way Hael and Claire moved closer to one another to whisper.

“What is it, girls?” she asked them, turning her head over her shoulder to look at them.

“Nothing!” Claire said, immediately, wide-eyed and innocent. Hael, a lot less adept at lying, simply looked down at her shoes.

Meg would have liked to keep interrogating them, but the usher announced they had arrive. Mr. Milton slid a bill in his hand and moved the chairs for each of them to sit down.

“I hope you will enjoy it and learn from it, girls,” he said as the all settled down. “It’s a tale about a woman struggling to stay virtuous against her own torrid passion for her lover.”

“Aren’t all operas about that?” Meg asked.

Mr. Milton laughed as the lights dimmed down and the play began.

It was, indeed, every bit as marvelous as Hael and Claire had hoped it would be. The words were in French, which only added to the musicality of the words that vibrated in the air, filling up every space. Yes, the costumes were full of glitter and elegance and the music was voluptuous and delicate at the same time, like a spell cast on all of those who listened to it in reverent silence.

Meg had a hard time concentrating on it, because the box was a lot smaller than she had expected it to be. Hael and Claire were concentrated on the play, almost leaning out over the rail, but she couldn’t get to that level of captivation.

Not with Mr. Milton sitting so close to her their shoulders were practically touching.

She tried to ignore it, the heat radiating from his body, the solid muscle right next to her. But it was impossible when his hand came to rest over hers on her knees. It was absolutely unbecoming, improper. She should have reacted with indignation, scream at him that he had no right to touch her like that.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t catch her breath enough to scream and even if she could, her heart was beating far too fast, her head felt far too light for her to manage. She opened her fan and try to get the heat on her face to go away, to no avail. At one point during a long aria, she turned her head, ever so slightly, so more air would hit her cheek and neck.

Mr. Milton was staring right at her. In the semi-darkness of the theater, she could see his smoldering grey eyes and his lips parted slowly. It made her stomach twist in a knot.

He placed his hand on her cheek…

Claire moved on her chair to whisper something to Hael, and he immediately let go of her. Meg barely had time to gather her thoughts before he stood up and bolted out of the box.

And there was no way she could concentrate on the play now. Hoping the girls wouldn’t notice anything amiss, she closed her fans, stood up as lightly as she could and followed him.

He hadn’t gone too far. He had stopped a few steps away, leaning against the wall of the hall, as if he too was barely holding himself together.

“Mr. Milton,” Meg called him and his back straightened up. He turned to look at her, still with that same burning look in his eyes.

“Miss Masters,” he started. “I… I would apologize to you, but I don’t think I can muster up the hypocrisy to do so.”

Before Meg could say another word, he strode towards her and cupped her face between his hands.

“I can’t hold this back any longer. I have tried to keep my distance, but it’s simply impossible. I love you.”


End file.
